Way of the Gun
by ZeroGain
Summary: Some choices can't be unmade, sometimes there's no reset switch. Sheriff Carter almost never has to use his gun, but one girl's death sets in motion events that may push him beyond the breaking point. Set post S04E09. Tags: Dark, Death, Angst, H/C.
1. Chapter 1

**PREFACE  
**_-Notes added 01/28/2011_-

_What is a gun? The answer seems simple. A hollow metal tube and a handle, it contains projectiles that will strike out once employed. There are a thousand and one different ways to describe one. You could wax poetic over free will and self-determination, or sing the dirges of the billions who've died under one. It can be an implement of justice or a harbinger of doom, sometimes both at the same time._

_What it boils down to, however, is simple. The gun is an expression of will, it is an agent to administering the wielder's will, and a tool. It can be used to protect or coerce, control or free, but it is never anything more than the one who employs it._

_It is a tool to project violence._

_Robert Heinlein said in his novel "Starship Troopers": "Anyone who clings to the historically untrue-and-thoroughly immoral doctrine that violence never solves anything I would advise to conjure up the ghosts of Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington and let them debate it. The ghost of Hitler would referee. Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor; and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst."_

_French king Louis XIV famously had engraved the Latin phrase "ultima ratio regum" on several cannons during his reign. The phrase translates into English as "the last argument of kings"._

_In the end of all things, when the gun comes out, nothing remains the same. In our societies the gun is the ultimate escalation, and for the common man there can be no greater argument._

_To bring things around to Eureka, town sheriff Jack Carter hardly ever has to use his gun to solve problems, because the gun really is the ultimate solution. In most cases and with the support of his friends and fellows, he can handle the issue of the week through discussion, or an exhibition of personal bravery, or sometimes just plain dumb luck. Sometimes though, there's no other choice, even in America's smartest little town._

_When he must use his gun, will things change forever? Can he, or anyone else, ever go home again?  
_

**Rating: M** (for content, specifically violence and language, and for adult situations involving violation of victims to various degrees.)**  
Chronology:** Post season 4, episode 9 "I'll Be Seeing You." Spoilers throughout. "O Little Town" is assumed to be a fable.**  
Full tags:** Dark, Death, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

* * *

**THE WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 1

_Sheriff Jack Carter_

I love comic books. In comic books you can bring the dead back to life, given the right circumstances. Good God, how I wish my life were one sometimes.

"Pilar, honey." I pleaded, "Put down the gun!" My own gun was out of the holster now, remembered reflexes and endless training keeping it ready, but clear of any immediate targets. A two-handed grip, both arms taut but not locked, aiming slightly to the side, legs balanced and unlocked, strong side slightly forward. Just the way they train you to be ready to kill someone.

Once, back before I'd traded the marshal's badge for the sheriff's, I'd had to track a perpetrator down to Oklahoma. Among other things he was a PCP addict and generally a real mean son of a bitch. He'd taken to beating people with any handy implement while in his drug fueled rages and taking what he wanted, in one case it was just a pack of cigarettes. That he was also an escapee and a multiple-state offender meant that it was me on his trail, not the local Barney Fife. I just never expected to have to do the same thing in Eureka.

The girl glared at me with a dazed and manic expression. She was a mere slip of a little thing. Tall, to be sure, but slender and normally very pretty. Now, her usually styled soft brown hair was in disarray, knotted and tangled. Her makeup, usually carefully attended to, was smeared and mussed, and clear tear tracks were visible through its ruin. Beyond that, it was obvious she was under some form of influence, that she was holding Tom Baxter's throat with one claw-like hand at the end of an arm with a visibly dislocated shoulder and _not_ screaming in agony…

Where the hell had she gotten a gun?

Said gun, heavy and black and looking two sizes too large for her slender hands, was stuck underneath Doctor Tom Baxter's chin. If it went off right now he'd loose half his face. Just like Oklahoma…

Russel Klein had been the perp's name. Why I remembered it so well just at that moment I'll never be able to tell, it was just there. Some part of my brain pulling up the relevant facts. Height 6'3", 270 lbs. Prison gang member, multiple life sentences. One of those assholes that wants to be a soldier for all the wrong reasons, so he becomes a soldier of another sort. Dead mom, unknown dad, dead sister. He'd killed his own wife.

It had been dark, just around twilight then, and I'd found him at an old house that had once belonged to his deceased mother, that he'd lived in as a kid. A U.S. Marshal's job, especially one in the Investigations Operations division, is to track and apprehend fugitives either with teams of other marshals or at the head of a local task force. I'd been good at the job, but it's one that grinds you down. The chances that Klein would be there had been slim to none. Yeah, right.

The altercation had gone from bad to worse and it'd taken half a clip to put him down. He'd surprised me, not the first time that had happened, but thankfully not the last. The house had been dark and quiet, and the large man suddenly looming up with a blood encrusted baseball bat had been a shock. That was the only other time in my life I'd seen eyes like Pilar's. Not even the crazy glares during that whole anger-ray-thing had approached this.

We were standing in the living room of Doctor Baxter's house, and I had arrived too late. The sadly deflated forms of his dead wife and daughter, one of Pilar's classmates, lay in the room. The lights were crazy, with the reading lamp by the easy chair the pair stood by having been knocked to the floor. Other lights in the living room were enough to let me see faces. Baxter was in shock.

He was a tall man, himself. Spare framed and thin, but fit. His dark brown hair was trimmed short, as usual. I couldn't see his eyes because he had them closed and his mouth moved just a little, as if he were praying or quietly pleading. Normally you'd look at the man and use words like aloof and cold fish, or driven and self-centered. Tonight he just looked scared half to death. A generally loveless man suddenly realizing he loves his life a great deal more than he thought he did.

I desperately prayed for someone, anyone, to respond to the call! But my deputy, Andy, was still en route. Jo Lupo, head of security for Global Dynamics, was even farther away. The Baxter home is one of those on the outside of town, out of the urbanized center with neighbors no closer than a quarter mile each. No help would come in time, I could feel it.

She looked me dead in the eyes, and the manic grimace faltered. For a brief moment the assertive but somewhat clumsy girl who'd been my daughter's companion for nearly three years, and frequent guest at my own dinner table, was back. Her eyes tracked to the gun in her hand, shell-shocked, and her mouth quirked, as though she had seven or eight things to say and none of them would come out. "What... what am I..." was all that came out. She blinked several times and her jaw worked as if her face were unfamiliar.

"Pilar," I said, trying to sound as calming as I could, taking one hand off my gun to hold up in a palm-forward 'stop' gesture. "Pilar, put down the gun! You don't want to do this. Just put it down and we can figure out-"

"No!" she screamed, the manic rage pouring back, filling her like some insane energy, as though there was a physical difference between the girl I knew and whatever this was. "No! You'll ruin everything!" she seethed, her voice a rough growl.

There's a point, when you're looking someone in the eye, when your trained well enough, when you've done this shit before, that you know that the decision has been made. Talking is done, action has to happen. The key in any situation like this one is to be ready to take action in a heartbeat or less, yourself. Jo's fond of quoting one of her old sensei about that seven heartbeats bushido crap, but it's bluster. In reality you have to be able to commit with a split second, because otherwise someone else may die.

Don't get me wrong, Jo's amazing at what she does. She's the quintessential tough chick. Rock hard and ice cold when the action is on, but being a cop is different from being a soldier.

Pilar's eyes hardened and she ground against Baxter like this was some perverse sex act. Then she stiffened and relaxed briefly and whispered in his ear "Fuck you!".

His eyes suddenly snapped open, the look of quiet, closed fear he'd held replaced suddenly with utter shock and disbelief. Her gun arm tensed. The signal! The moment of truth. Reflexes... God damn reflexes...

They train you how to kill, but call it saving lives. They teach you how to stand, how to pull the trigger, how to be ready, but they don't teach you about how to deal with what you've done. No one can. You have to learn that one yourself.

My gun roared.

Tom Baxter stood still, still frozen in horrified shock, splattered liberally in blood. Urine flow stained his gray work trousers, its odor lost in the overpowering burning smolder of cordite.

Pilar Alexandria Graham's corpse lay stretched out on the ground, nerve reactions twitching the body, a hole from a .40 caliber hollow-point round beneath her right eye, and very little of the back of her head remaining.

Blood and... other things... were all over that side of the room.

My God...

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_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **Having finished the story last night, I've decided to run back through and edit some things to clean up issues for potential readers and myself. I've had a number of situations with dropped names and wrong words, so I'm getting to these as I can. There are 20 chapters and I don't reveal everything relevant in one chapter all in that chapter, so if you're confused later on or at a later date, the answer is hinted at probably a chapter or a few ahead of where you're reading. Thank you for reading and please review if you haven't already.  
_

_-Edited 01/29/2011_


	2. Chapter 2

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 2  
(edited 01/29/2011)

"Carter, what the hell happened here?" The words seemed like they were coming from a far off place, until they were repeated with a firm shake of my shoulder. I turned to look into the eyes of my one-time deputy Jo Lupo. We'd met when I took the sheriff's job. She'd been deputy to Bill Cobb, my predecessor. Our relationship hadn't always been the smoothest, but over the years we'd become friends.

Most people would have said she was being stern, and angry, but I knew this Jo a hell of a lot better than most people in town. I could see the wild desperation in her eyes as she took everything in, me included.

About six months ago we, together with three other friends, had been thrown back in time to 1947. Something we did must have changed history, because when we got back things just weren't the same. Among other changes, Jo had somehow become Chief of Security for Global Dynamics in this reality.

What happened? I couldn't really say much, I think I just muttered an brilliant "Um...", or something equally witty. That's me, witty Sheriff Carter, Mister Everyman, Mister Andy Griffith, Mister I-Just-Killed-My-Daughter's-Best-Friend.

Fuck.

Something washed over me, and I was finally able to collect myself enough to start actively making decisions again. I quickly reviewed recent events to make sure I knew what I was going to do next.

The shooting had happened (it was safer to think of it as 'the shooting'), then I had collected doctor Baxter and moved him outside. On the way I'd called Lupo and GD security. Andy, my robot deputy, had arrived next and promptly set up the "crime scene" holograms after giving Baxter a prompt once-over with that creepy x-ray vision, or whatever it is.

Baxter had gone nuts then, exploding into manic action and trying to run back into the house, but between me and the terminator we managed to keep him under control. He settled for sitting on the doorstep weeping like a madman. A lot how I'd be if I had lost Zoe like the Grahams had... No... Not now.

What then... yes... no hospital in town so GD medical was on the way. Besides, Baxter was one of their researchers so they were going to have to come and look at the scene anyway.

Then Jo had arrived. She'd been asleep, or very nearly so, or... yeah, that was a hickey on her neck. Her hair was tangled and only recently pushed into a loose ponytail. Reality was back with me now. I sighed and leaned against the one of the Big Brother black SUV her office used, shaking my head.

"I don't know, Jo." I said, wearily, rubbing my hands over my face, fighting to keep the memory from coming back up. "_Yet_." I said with what must have been a considerable amount of anger because of how she flinched away from me. I took a few breaths to ease up before I continued. "Something got inside that girl's head, what I faced in there was only marginally Pilar Graham, and when I... did what I had to..."

"Carter, don't second guess! Not right now!" She said, fiercely, her hand back on my shoulder. "Analyze, evaluate, but don't second guess. We'll figure it out. After that you can armchair it." She shook her head and turned away to look at the scene, absently brushing some hairs away from her face. The whole area was lit by the crazy strobing of red and blue emergency lights. Every single light in the house was on now, and I could see Deputy Andy walking around inside through the front window.

"You and Zane, eh?" I said to Jo. She stiffened and whirled toward me, eyes wide in shock. Then her hand clasped against the love-bite on her neck and she blushed redder than the emergency lights were painting her.

I smiled. "Relax, Jo. I'm not your Dad, I'm your friend."

She eased up a notch and grinned a little ruefully. "We're sorting it out, I think. We were talking and... well... he just up and kissed me, like in the Sheriff's office a few weeks ago. Smug bastard..." She blushed again, I think.

I nodded. "I trust your judgment. We've already included Grace, if you think he's with it, you've got my vote." She almost glowed for a second, then the newer, very assertive her took back over.

"Like I _need_ your approval!" she said, smugly.

The break from the seriousness of the event was good, but reality came crushing down on us at about the same time. I rubbed at my eyes and stepped away from the support of the vehicle. There was a foul taste in my mouth, bile mixed with copper and iron. I hoped it was just that I'd bit my tongue... or something.

"Seriously, Carter. What can you tell me?" Security Chief Lupo said, switching noticeably from the friend to the professional. She needed to find out what was going on as bad as I did. It would still be my beef, after all there had been two murders... three depending... but Baxter was her responsibility as well.

I sighed and tried to marshal my thoughts, to recall the exact events. After a moment I said, "I responded to a 911 from Baxter's wife. She said her daughter and her daughter's friend were fighting, and that it was getting serious. She was a lot more stressed than that, you'll hear on the tape... recording... whatever." I shook my head. Of course it wouldn't be a tape. Probably some insane version of a memory crystal recorder that would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

"She was really panicked, and I could hear really horrible screaming in the background, then the line went down. I got on the horn with Andy while I was on the way and drove here as fast as I could. You'll see Pilar's car... um..." Jo's hand on my arm helped me focus again. "Her car, in the ditch about a quarter mile down the road."

"Yeah" said Jo, "Noted that."

"I think that may be where she dislocated her shoulder at." That was definitely one of the harder things to piece in. An injury like that was pretty painful, you didn't just go walking around after that.

"Did Mrs. Baxter say anything about Pilar needing medical help?" asked Jo. I take back my barb about soldier's and cops. She learned how to be a cop pretty damned well too.

"No" I said. "But she wasn't awful coherent." I paused a bit, trying to reorder everything. "I got here too late for most of it. Luisa and Sharon were already dead or dying. I think Sharon, um... Mrs. Baxter... may have been just barely alive but the wound was arterial and Pilar had that gun on me." I tried to focus, see what I might have missed in the heat of reaction.

Desperation hit me! "Jo, please tell me that she had a real gun! That's a real gun in there with her body?" Oh God, what if I'd made a mistake? What if it was a toy? What if-

"Yeah, Carter! Relax. Andy told me a bit about it while you were standing here once we got here. It's an old Colt M1911, pretty much an antique from the second world war." Relief and guilt hit me in equal measure, each warring for top spot in my current mental circus. "Mr. Graham is a member of the gun club, we've shot together before. I recognized it... it was one that he'd inherited from his grandfather. Sentimental family heirloom or something like that."

Great, more emotional baggage, but at least it explained how she'd gotten a gun without any serious alerts. Oregon, well mostly Portland, but large parts of the state are pretty liberal when it comes to gun control laws. Add to that the town is run by the Department of Defense and it's not as though there's a quaint little gun store run by a genial old man spitting tobacco into a tin pot. "Okay. I went through the front door, gun out as soon as I saw Sharon on the floor. I heard what sounded like an animal screaming from the kitchen and moved in to see what I could see. I think I called names. That's when I saw Luisa's body and knelt to check her out."

"Pilar came out of the kitchen, holding Doctor Baxter with her injured arm, the one with the dislocated shoulder, and she had that gun pressed up under his chin." Ding, ding, ding. New ringside contender for Horrible Things I've Witnessed To Haunt My Dreams. This crap wasn't supposed to happen here... L.A., sure. Hell even Oklahoma. Not Eureka, Oregon. I think we're on Google as "bucolic".

"Wait a minute." said Jo. "Her _injured_ arm?" she asked, the disbelief evident in her voice.

"Yup. Like it wasn't bugging her in the least." Jo only shook her head. "You remember... well of course you remember the anger-ray thing Parrish cooked up earlier this year. But you may not recall what other people were acting like during that as clearly as I do. In that they were _really_ angry. Lots of screaming and yelling. This was... different."

"How so?" She asked. There was a hint of the sardonic in her voice. "I remember the event pretty well, Carter."

"Yeah" I said, "I know. Not meaning to infer anything, Jo. You did great in that." I remembered what she'd said then. That I was stepping all over her, not letting her do her job, things like that. She really had done great, held it together and even protected Allison.

"It's just that this was more... I dunno... pure. It was like something was _riding_ her. Right before I had to shoot..." I only paused slightly, if I forced myself to continue dealing with it I wouldn't break down in public again. "Before that there was this moment where she sort-of snapped out of it, started looking confused. I thought I had a chance to talk her down, but then whatever it was resumed control and that was that."

Jo nodded. She looked around thoughtfully for a bit. "No other options? You're usually pretty handy about that kind of thing."

I bit back on a really hurtful reply. The very last thing I needed right now is someone else telling me I didn't need to kill that little girl! Instead I just said, "No, ma'am. No. Other. Options."

Her head snapped around and she glared at me for a second, slightly confused as well, but then she must have realized what it was she'd said. "Sorry, Jack." she apologized.

I sighed. "So am I." I looked around for a bit, then said sternly, "Jo. I'm in on this 100%. If it's some GD lab bullshit there's no locking out the Sheriff on this one. I will go one hundred and ten percent official if I have to!" I would too. It had happened in the past that they company had decided to lock me out. The likelihood of that these days was slim to nil, but that depended too on how much the military brass wanted to get involved. If this was some pet project of General Mansfield's, he'd shut me down. And hard.

She responded with a thoughtful nod. When she spoke there was fire in her voice, "Carter, if this is a GD mix-up I want you to bust whoever is responsible into a bloody pulp. We'll worry about police procedure later!"

There was another batch of sirens approaching. That would be the cars from GD Medical. I hadn't called her but I wondered if Allison was with them. I didn't want her to see this, but the more rational part recognized that wherever we were going with this relationship, she wouldn't appreciate me trying to 'protect' her from the uglier parts of her own job.

I shook my head. "No, Jo. We follow procedure on this one. I don't need my impulses telling me what to do."

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_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **On editing this, I find that I really like how this chapter works. Very minor tweaks in this one. To forestall questions, yes, I am assuming that the Zoe/Zane thing from the first half of season 4 is resolved. It plays out later some, I hope you like it.  
_

_Please R&R and let me know what you like and don't!**  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 3  
_(edited 03/03/11)_

In the end we would find leads at the scene of the shooting that would take us all to some tough spaces, but that was going to take a while. My immediate concern after trying to master myself and deal with what had just happened, a process very much assisted by Jo and her direct questioning, was to control the fallout. There were several things that needed to be done, but none that I dreaded as much as telling Pilar's folks that their baby was dead and that I had done it.

It's not that I haven't done "The Talk" before, but it never gets easier. It shouldn't, of course, but you always hope that this time will be the last time, and you'll never have to do it again. It is, as has been said, a pleasing fiction. The only way out of it, though, is to quit doing the job. Despite the pain, the satisfaction in saving lives, in being a part of something greater, in doing actual good… well, you take your lumps.

I had been right, Allison was with the GD Medical staff that showed up for the emergency. She'd shown up in one of the company's SUVs, right behind one of the two ambulances we had for the town. Two of the 'paramedics', both outright practicing doctors doing their community contribution, immediately set on Doctor Baxter and started giving him the once over.

I had a good moment to register the change in Allie's expression as she came up to me. First, she was tired too. I'd known they were doing a long night tonight, studying some bug or other that I didn't really understand, so the tiredness didn't surprise me. I took a private moment as she approached to appreciate her. I really don't deserve her, not really. But I'll be damned to Hell if I ever give her up. Amongst all the bad that I'd seen, over all of it, I had could take this moment and remind myself that there were still beautiful things in this world, that the ugliness didn't cover it all, and that love still mattered.

As she approached her expression and body language gave away the changes. Calm, graceful, and smooth as she may be I still don't think she, not to mention any of the various supercilious twits at Global, really appreciated how much they gave away in tone and body language. At first there was the delight at seeing me, and God how I needed that right then. It was like sunshine breaking through a cloud bank on a cold, misty day. The chill is still there, but as the rays bathe you your skin warms, the light fills you, and you almost have to close your eyes or go blind.

I know I smiled then, and I wasn't particularly careful with my own body language. Especially not with Allie. One of the things I love most about her is her intelligence and perceptiveness. I could see her dissecting me as she approached, and when she got up to me all she did was grab me into a fierce embrace.

Dammit. So far I hadn't cried. I'm not supposed to cry. I do my job, it hurts when it has to, but I don't…

I don't know how long I held her, quietly sobbing. I just know that for that undefined time she was my anchor to sanity.

Once I'd got back in control of myself she let me go. "I'm so sorry, Jack" she said, hand against my cheek. Again, keen insight. No 'what happened', 'how did this happen', 'what did you do', just calm understanding and the firm assurance that I would pull through and that no matter what she'd be there.

Dammit I suddenly felt like a total ass. Here I was wallowing in my own self-pity… what was I going to subject Pilar's parents to? And I had to tell Zoe too.

"Alli" I said, "I know it's a mess, but I need to know whatever you can find out. I can tell you that she wasn't herself when everything happened, but…"

"Of course, Jack." she said. "We'll be able to find something, I'm sure."

"I hope so, because someone is going to answer for this!" I whispered fiercely. The emotional soup had slowly been coming to a boil, and now that I'd had that last release a quiet but very vibrant anger filled me.

"Jack!" she said, urgently. "Honey, don't. Don't let this tear you apart!" See how much I don't deserve her?

I nodded, calming down a bit. The anger was still there though, but it was in the background. I could work with that, channel that.

The next hour or so was spent going over the scene. I answered questions from Allison and Jo, and Andy too. Sorted out how everything had gone to the best of my reckoning. Shortly after they arrived the GD Medical team took doctor Baxter away. I'd do a more thorough interview with him later, but the end result was that he wouldn't be able to tell me anything more than what I'd seen at the time, or knew already.

I knew that Pilar had been friends with Luisa, hell I'd vaguely known Luisa too, but she'd been an addition to Pilar's circle after Zoe had left for college. Beyond that their relationship was a mystery, and I'd have to do some digging to find out if it had anything to do with what had happened. What a sick turn of events it would be if this _hadn't_ been some sciencey screw up. Hell, it was already a sick turn of events. I hadn't had to use my gun in a conflict with another human being for years!

Allison and the rest of the GD med team had packed up the bodies and moved out. I left Andy to do the forensics because his tools and skill-set most definitely run that way, and I and Jo went to do the human thing.

* * *

There were options, of course, but the only compassionate thing to do was to tell them in person. A phone call or a summons to an official place just doesn't cut it. I was so damn thankful that Jo had offered to back me up on this that I couldn't really put it into words.

All she said when I started trying to thank her was, "Shut up, Carter. I've had to do this too." That made me wonder when and where, but I let it be. Whatever conflicts had shaped Jo Lupo into what she was and had taught her this sad lesson were not my business. Not that I hadn't tried, but her file was pretty heavily redacted when I finally got my hands on it in our second year working together. I knew she'd been abroad in the service, but had pulled this duty after some event that had caught her superior officers' attentions. Maybe the old Sheriff, Major Cobb? In truth it didn't really matter. Friends do crap like this. Friends are there when it's going to hurt them as much as it hurts you.

The lights were on when we drove up to the Graham residence. Robert and Annabelle Graham held their residence on 15 Curie Lane. It was a two story affair, with an honest to God turret on one corner of the house that rose another two stories above that and looked to have a mini-observatory in it. I'll never get over this town… When we pulled up I noted movement in the living room, as did Jo. We exchanged glances and I could see the same concern in her eyes. What if whatever had happened to Pilar had started here?

By the time we made it through the very carefully manicured front yard to the door, both of us had our guns loose in their holsters. Jo had drawn her taser as we approached as well, and for just a brief moment I had the sincerest wish that my reflex had drawn that instead of the gun. Then again, a taser jolt might well have convulsed the muscles in the vic- in Pilar's hands and blown Baxter's face across the room too.

We got to the front door and I knocked with my Official Police Business knock. The one that's heavy, but not angry, and swift, but not frantic. Jo was by the door jam, taser low and ready, I stayed in front of the door so that whoever was inside could see me through the peep hole. The wait for an answer was fairly tense. Countless movies where someone who wants to off the intruder at the door sticks a gun up to the peephole and pulls the trigger ran through my head like a rapid fire slide-show.

The peephole darkened as it was occluded by something, and then the door cautiously opened and Mr. Graham looked out at us. Doctor Robert Graham was a physicist at GD. I never was clear on his specialty, but it had something to do with nano-something-or-others and microbiology.

"Sheriff Carter?" he asked me, confusion evident in his voice. He seemed slightly off guard, but more curious than confused. Someone who was under immediate duress, I didn't think, would be reacting in quite that way. I nodded and glanced at Jo, nodding very slightly. She caught it and eased up, putting away the taser.

"Hi, Dr. Graham. Can I come in? I need to talk to you and your wife." I tried to be as tactful and polite as I could but the seriousness of the situation lent perhaps too much gravity to my voice. His attention focused on me more and he closed up a little.

"Uh... of course... ah... please, you and Chief Lupo have a seat, I'll go get Annabelle."

Jo and I did as asked, seating ourselves in the living room. The Grahams kept a pristine home, and the floor plan was open without a tremendous amount of clutter. Unlike some of the houses I'd been to in this town in my years as sheriff, this one was neat and orderly, with the hallmarks of a family in residence as opposed to a researcher with no understanding of the words "down time". There were pictures of family members on the walls, and a china cabinet. Fluting glass ornamental lamps lit the room, and there was no television in here, or any electronic device besides the thermostat. Very homey for Eureka.

Bob returned with his wife Annabelle, collected from bed upstairs, to judge by the tired eyes and tousled bedhead. The "Talk" has a few standard ways it can go, but I opted for the most compassionate one I felt I could deliver. I remembered very clearly how I'd delivered the news of Nathan Stark's sacrifice on the day of his and Allison's wedding... the thought of someone doing this for me to her just about froze me. I'd joked a little when she'd confessed her fear of just that, but now more than ever I got it. On the heels of that thought came a sudden empathy for my ex-wife Abby's fears as well. Hindsight is 20/20, they say.

"Doctor Graham, Annabelle, I'm sorry but I have some very bad news for you." What started as concerned expressions rapidly went down the scale to confused, then hurt, then outright horrified. I was mostly paying attention to Annabelle so I didn't notice much about Bob's behavior until later, when Jo pointed it out to me.

"I had to answer a 911 tonight over at the Baxter residence. I know your daughter was friends with Luisa Baxter. Um... when I got there things were pretty bad." By this point I was trying to rub the tension out of my neck , a nervous tic of mine I just can't seem to beat.

"There was... an incident..." I weakly said

"Wait, Sheriff." said Annabelle, "Where's Pilar? You're not..." she just locked eyes with me and there really was no way to soften the blow. Her hand flew to her mouth as her lower lip started to quiver. A soft, low, keening emanated from her and she collapsed into her husband, seeking support. I could only really guess what she was going through. Of all the times I'd thought Zoe to be in terrible danger, it had always come out fine on the other side. There was no way this would _ever_ be okay.

"There's more." I said in a flat monotone, dreading the following. "Luisa and Mrs. Baxter are also dead, and right now we think it was Pilar who killed them." Annabelle's full attention fixed on me and the utter denial that radiated from her was a physical thing. She kept mumbling "no, no, no..."

Jo interceded for a moment, "We recovered a weapon at the scene. Bob, I'm pretty sure it was your Dad's colt, the one you brought to the gun range a few weeks ago. The weapon's impounded as evidence for now... I'm sorry."

I nodded a 'thank you' to her, then continued. "When I arrived at the scene... Pilar was holding Dr. Baxter at gunpoint, using him as a shield... I..." I couldn't talk for a few seconds, but pulled it back together. "I am so sorry, I tried everything I could by there was limited time and no options. I know this is difficult to hear, but she was acting as though she was under the influence of... something, and it seemed like she was not altogether cognizant of the situation, but..."

Annabelle's face had frozen into the mask of a woman twenty years her senior. She seemed to fold in on herself and almost stop existing in the outside world. Congratulations Carter, you just destroyed this woman's world...

"She tried to pull the trigger and... and there was only one way to save his." I shook my head not wanting to say these next words. If there were any justice in this whole fucking universe I wouldn't have to say them. The words only came out reluctantly, and quietly at that. "I had to shoot Pilar to stop the assault." I said. "The injury was... was fatal."

It was Mr. Graham's reaction that surprised me. I don't know exactly what I expected, but there was a difference between outrage at his daughter's death, and the quite stoic expression on his face. He seemed like a statue.

"I cannot express how sorry I am, Bob, Annabelle. I wish, with all my heart that-" I tried to apologize.

Suddenly Bob tensed, as though he'd been jolted by a spark. He interrupted me with a violent hiss, his arm contracting around his wife, holding her close. "Shut up!"

"Bob… I-"

"No!" he interrupted me again. "No! Because of _you_ our baby girl is _dead_! There's nothing more you can say, Carter." His eyes found mine and there was a fire there I'd seen in few men, but I understood. I imagine it's how I would feel if out situations were reversed. "Get out!"

"Doctor Graham-" Jo started in on a tirade, her posture communicating a sincere readiness to fight, but stopped when I shook my head with a grunted "No!" She took a calming breath and stepped back. I nodded to the Grahams, stood, and turned to leave.

Before I made it out the door, following Jo, I turned and said to them, "I can't bring her back, I wish to God I could. But I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to find who is responsible for this and see they are punished."

Bob Graham's eyes never lost their cold, crystalline icy fire and he said in low, fierce tones, "As far as I am concerned, that is you! Get out!"

I left.

Once we were back in my cruiser I turned to Jo. "Drop you off somewhere?"

She only nodded and settled into the passenger seat. It wasn't a long ride back to her new house, Eureka's not that big. On the way she had a few insights for me, however.

"Carter, did you notice Dr. Graham's reaction when you said the words?" she asked me.

"Jo! Of course I noticed! He was yelling at me plenty fine…" I replied.

She shook her head and sighed, "No, I mean right when you said the words." I tried to play it back, but my focus wasn't up to par on this one, so I wound up with my own head shake. "When you tried to explain how she had acted, there was recognition in Dr. Graham's expression, Carter."

"What? No…"

"Yes!" she said, fixing me with a glare. "It was the 'not herself' bit you said. I might be mistaking things, but I doubt it. I'm going to look into his project list and see what I can find out."

I nodded. "Thanks again, Jo. Keep me posted?", her turn to simply nod. By now we were at her house. Her car was still in the driveway. I noted in the shadows by the garage a particular motorcycle that I recognized from a few traffic incidents. I nodded in that direction, "He's still here" She tried to hide the reaction, but… what can I say. Jo's family. "Hey" I said, "Don't work too late on this, there's lots of procedure to go through. It'll take time." The blush that flared on her cheeks and across her neck was cute.

"Shut up, Carter." she whispered as she got out of the car, but there was an anxious grin and a glint in her eyes when she got out of the car.

I went home after that. The rest would have to wait for tomorrow.

When I got there, I found Allison waiting. We talked very little about the situation, except for a brief update that she had staff on it, and had come here to see to me.

I so very desperately needed her that night, and the love we made was soft and tender, a quietly desperate attempt to put some value back into life.

* * *

_Author's Notes:  
(re-edited 03/03/11)_

_I know I went over some of Carter's emotions in chapter 2, but I thought having an immediate encounter with Allison might be more appropriate to some of his angst. In my chapter 1 preface I had indicated I might switch viewpoints, but I'm really engaging with Carter so it is looking more and more like a single viewpoint narrative._

_The Talk with Pilar's folks has been expanded and revised for better clarity after some of my reviewers left me some very helpful questions mixed with their insightful reviews. Thank you folks. I hope this version makes a little more sense. Crap! I can't believe I got Madame Curie's name wrong on the street! Put my picture up on Failblog I guess._

_Chapter 4 is going to start dealing with the immediate investigation. As I have a full work week ahead future updates will be coming at a slightly slower pace._

_I want to thank my prior reviewers on this story, your words are a great inspiration for me to continue as well as a great insight about how I should continue._

_Please leave a comment, any criticism is appreciated, even if you hate it!_

_Thank you for reading._

_P.S. If it needs to be said, no, I don't own Eureka or its characters, I'm just playing with them for fun and a learning experience._


	4. Chapter 4

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 4

The next morning I called my daughter to tell her the bad news, that her Dad had put a bullet in her best friend.

"Hey, Zo" I began. My little girl's pretty damn smart and the does a 111 like me quite proud. She picked up all the cues quickly: early hours call, serious and tired sounding Dad voice, no obvious occasion.

"Dad? What happened?" Her voice quavered slightly, rich with trepidation. A few times in her life I've had to deliver bad news, but after the lessons I'd learned in Eureka, and how close I'd grown to her in that time, this was perhaps the most difficult such task I'd ever had to do.

"First... I'm sorry." She remained quiet, giving me time to collect the words, though her impatience was palpable. "There was an incident last night, an altercation, and Pilar was involved."

"What? No!" she gasped. I could just see her holding her hand to her chest. "Is she okay?"

"No, honey. She was under some influence and..." I paused when I heard her wavering gasp. "And she was going to kill someone, Zoe. I'm sorry, I had to." She went quiet for several seconds. "Zoe?"

"No, Dad... you didn't... oh no" God, I hated this!

I tried to project as much remorse as I was feeling into my voice. "I'm so sorry, honey. I didn't have a choice. Other people were already hurt, Zoe."

"What? Who?"

"Luisa and Mrs. Baxter-"

"Is she... Are they-"

"No. As near as we can figure it was Pilar who killed them."

"What? No! You can't be serious!" That was the final straw. After that our conversation was a lot less talking and a lot more crying. I tried my best to console her. I longed to be there so I could at least offer a hug. She was hurting at least as bad as I had been yesterday, and all I could do was say 'I'm sorry' like some goddamn lump.

After a while, when she could form coherent sentences again, I let her know that I'd already bought airline tickets home, and that SARAH had her room clean and ready.

"Zoe, honey, I-"

"Don't, Dad!" she interrupted me, her tone resentful and angry. "Just... not right now, okay? I... I need to process this..." I understood that. She blamed me, at least partly (and rightly), and she was mad at me. It hurt, but I got it.

"Alright, Zoe."

I arranged the tickets for her and paid for it all. She'd be home tonight. It would be good to have her home, on some level, and I was glad for that, but resolution and by extension forgiveness (both hers to me and mine to myself) would be a while coming.

* * *

The investigation into Pilar's... what... death? Murder? Having been only one of two surviving witnesses to the event made it odd for me to call it a murder because I'd pulled the trigger. And yet, whatever had been controlling her indicated that someone else was responsible, ultimately. Of course to virtually every outsider, and to a significant extent to myself as well, _I_ was that murderer. Regardless the investigation got underway in earnest after I finished with Zoe.

I tried to bury my freshly wrung out emotions into the work. If I could figure out _what_ happened, I could figure out how to _stop_ it from happening again.

The first leg was reading reports. Deputy Andy had been busy all night long canvassing the crime scene with frighteningly tireless efficiency. I missed having Jo as my deputy, but there were sometimes definite advantages to having a machine to do the job. By the time I got to my office in the morning I had a series of filed reports sitting on my desk, neatly stacked, perfectly printed. Once I'd joked about his careful sorting method, but it was right after he'd engaged that emotional subroutine and the results were both comical and sad. You'd figure that, after dealing with SARAH for four years I'd know better.

What I did know better than was to ask where he was. His batteries last a good long time, but he'd been constantly going for a while now, and was probably 'recharging'... _with_ said smart house. God, that never ceased being creepy.

Initial findings were fairly gruesome. It had been the gun in Pilar's hand to kill Luisa and Sharon, and residue on her hand was consistent with multiple shots fired. Based on available evidence he'd put together a "most likely" scenario, complete with a 3D animation. I chose to just watch it, the offered holographic immersion was simply too much for me.

The dramatization showed the initial invasion, most likely forced (scuff marks by the door, biological tags from Pilar there) and followed up with a proposed sequence. Luisa and Pilar argue, then a fight breaks out (Scratch marks on Pilar's face and defensive wounds on her forearms, contusions consistent with a pistol whipping on Luisa's head). Sharon intercedes but is forced away, then she goes to the phone. Call records show the 911 call I received, then the house phone line goes down.

Hold on a second. Sharon had hung up on me, hadn't she?

I checked through the rest of the report quickly, and the fiber optic network showed a "loss of signal" disconnect at the Baxter residence at precisely 8:47 p.m., the exact same time the 911 call ended. At that time the house is completely isolated from all outside networks.

I hurriedly flipped to the transcript report Andy had produced. There were several pages, on top being the "normal" transcript, what you'd see on almost every incident report in the Marshall's Office or FBI, but this is Eureka. Page two began the audio beak down with voice-stress analyses, sound isolation, all that fun stuff. Around page five began the discrete sound analysis.

At the time I'd heard gut wrenching shrieking in the background. The sound-enhanced transcript had other things to say:

Audio Enhancement of Background Noise  
Participants: Pilar Graham, Luisa Baxter, Unidentified Male #1

_Luisa: "Fucking bitch! Get off me!"_  
_[incoherent scream, pain infliction probable]_

_Pilar (crying): "I hate you! You lied to me! How could you do this?"_  
_[high voice stress indicates confusion and anger]_

_Luisa (screaming): "Lying bitch! You fucking cow! You-"_  
_[physical blow - metal impacting flesh & bone - likely pistol whip contusion found on Luisa Baxter's left anterior cranium]_

_Pilar (nearly incoherent, screaming): "Stupid slut! He's probably fucking you too!"_

_Unidentified Male #1: "No! Pi-"_  
_[final words distorted, tonality and voice stress suggest participant Pilar Graham's name was subject's declaration]_

-End of Line-

Holy shit... _that_ changed some things!

I immediately picked up my phone and dialed Allison at her office in Global Dynamics. She answered on the third ring, "Doctor Blake."

"Alli" I said, my mood lightening a little at her voice.

"Oh, hi Jack" her voice had a bit of bittersweet smile to it as well.

"Hey, business call, sorry." I paused, briefly rereading the transcript. The easiest way was just to charge ahead, you can't say this one softly. "I need you to run a rape kit on Pilar."

She gasped, stunned. "What?" she said, her voice pained. "Jack, are you serious?"

"Yeah" I said sadly, my hand massaging my neck to try and ease some of the tension. "I've got some transcripts here that insinuate she was sexually active, and at least part of the altercation involved an argument about Luisa and Pilar sleeping or having relations with the same male."

"Oh God, as if this weren't bad enough, now sexual assault? Here?" If she couldn't believe it, how could I.

It's not like we don't have our problems, but Eureka just doesn't seem to get the same incidence of these problems as the rest of the world. Mayberry it ain't! I'm pretty sure Andy Griffith never tangled with collapsing time lines! But damn it all, rape and assault just aren't common occurrences here.

Now, if you want to talk about artificially engineered fossilization... Or maybe black hole devices... Or possibly hyperoxygenation threatening to catch fire and burn the entire world... well have a sit down in my office and I'll explain why that NDA is necessary.

"I know. So much for 'bucolic', huh?" The attempt at humor wasn't precisely the best choice.

"Uh... yeah. Look, I'll put that on the docket. The autopsy is scheduled to begin in about thirty minutes. I've got Luisa and Mrs. Baxter's records already to send over to you." She had shifted back into the safety of work. Facts, figures, reports. I understood.

"Do you want me to call you with the findings on Pilar?" she asked.

"Yes, please." I answered. "But I'll probably be up there, I need to talk to Jo and have a look at some records. Bye, Alli. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me for this, Jack." she said, automatically.

I smiled a little. "It's not only for that," I said, "it's for everything else, too. For being you, for being here."

"Well..." she drew out the comment. "All this and flattery too."

"I love you, Allison." I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, Jack. I love you, too."

We hung up. I took another thorough look at the reports on my desk, downloaded the portable copy to my PDA, and left the Sheriff's office to head up to Global Dynamics.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

_Here is chapter 4. It was initially much longer but I'm paring it down to shift into two posts._

_Look for Chapter 5 a little later this week. If I get enough of a backlog I'll try and find a regular posting schedule._

_Zoe is tough to write for, her character is a lot more complex that it appears on the surface, and it is very easy to dismiss her. I hope to include her a whole lot more later on, after she gets back to Eureka._

_With Zane and Jo getting together, I am tempted to have the Zane/Zoe thing already resolved. I believe it would distract from the narrative to take a break and deal with them. And besides, many other authors on this site have already done so quite well._

_Allison makes another appearance, and she has a much bigger part in chapter 5. I am trying to portray her relationship with Jack as real as I know how. I hope I've succeeded. You folks may not realize it, but if you've seen the webisodes Allison's actually killed more things with guns in Eureka than Jack has! You can find them on YouTube easily enough.  
_

_I know this is titled "Way of the Gun", so I hope you all aren't disappointed that I haven't started blowing things up. The narrative has mandated what I've delivered thus far, and really the title is more about the gun as an implement of decision. As I said in the introduction, 'ultima ratio regum'. I first caught that bit of Latin in Neil Stephenson's excellent cyberpunk novel "Snow Crash". It translates as "The Last Argument (or Final Resort) of Kings". I take it to mean that, when the guns come out, everything changes. At that point the decisions are now final, and the consequences are eternal._


	5. Chapter 5

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 5

Global Dynamics. The epicenter of damn near everything screwed up in my life, and the source of some of the best things that have ever happened to me. I both loved and hated the place. Today it was a little bit more hate than love.

Things had changed since I and some of the others had accidentally been pulled back in time. It wasn't the best for some of us, but for others it had been a godsend. I honestly believe Allison was meant to do what she's doing now. She's smart, and very well learned, and as I understand it has a very wide disciplinary base, but when it comes to medicine she shines like a star. In this time line she filled in after the prior director had suffered one of Eureka's many trademark accidents, and had done so well she continued to stay on. Eventually abdicating the DoD liaison position when this Director Nathan Stark had offered her Director of Medical Research.

Don't get me wrong, she did good as a field agent, and her tenure as Director of GD had made possible the some of outfit's best and brightest years. Of course that was, sadly, lost to the vagaries of time travel. In this brave new world she never had been Director.

Fargo told me what it was, a few months ago. When Director Stark had screwed the pooch on that artifact fiasco, General Mansfield had pulled the necessary votes to put him in charge of GD's oversight at DARPA. In the time line we all came from, that decision had been different. According to Fargo, one of the senators that had blocked Mansfield in the original version of our world had never been elected, and in fact was serving as an academic chair in the whatever ivory tower had replaced the one Trevor Grant had supposedly founded... before he hitched a ride with us to try and see some freakin' flying cars.

Security here featured many more black-suited guards than had been present when I had first taken the job. All wore paramilitary fatigues with combat boots and utility belts. Standard issue sidearms were Glock-23s; good, heavy, reliable handguns. Those had been the model 17s before the switch up, loading 9mm rounds. The model-23 guns used the same .40 caliber S&W cartridge that I used in my Sig, a significant increase in stopping power. Add to that the collapsible batons and folding tactical knives, and this was a much meaner force.

I'd taken their measure a time or two, and they seemed a different bunch than what we'd left behind. These guys were more rigid on protocol, but also a bit more gun-happy. The primary deciding factor had seemed (to me) to be a willingness to follow orders first, and reason through the situation second. Jo had said she was reviewing the lists, and I knew a few changes had been made, but she had to go slow. Too much change too quickly and it would raise red flags. It was her mantra, and I agreed, that a smart security force was better than a pliable one.

Security Chief Lupo's Office is, some could say, a reflection of her steel core. It's austere without being spartan, decorated in muted colors and the like. Pictures of past presidents and the current one (a mandatory decoration in any law enforcement office), a few filing cabinets. It would almost be any other office except for the Plexiglas wall of the holding cell on the room's north side. The only decorations I recognized as belonging to my Jo were the individual pictures of three vaguely swarthy men (maybe of Italian heritage), obviously brothers, and the folded flag framed on the wall behind her desk. I knew the pictures were her three older brothers, all involved overseas in various and sundry military activities. Last I'd heard Andrew was working counter-insurgency operations in Afghanistan, and I had no idea where the other two were. The flag, though, I knew was the one that had lain across her dad's casket. He'd passed a few years before Jo and I had met, and she didn't talk about him much, but from what I knew Robert Lupo must have been an extraordinary guy.

Lieutenant Harrison (one of Jo's recent promotions) let me in to her office, saluted smartly with a precise "Ma'am" and departed. I smirked a little, to her chagrin. She eyed me, saying "Shut up, Carter."

"Jeez Jo, again with that? C'mon, that's Stark's line." I said, jovially.

She looked down her nose at me. While remaining seated.

"Fine, fine. You can have it." I said, as though I were bequeathing a gift with no merit, in that 'oh you silly kids' imitation I knew would tick her off. Damn it, but I _needed_ the levity.

Her icy stare finally cracked, and she snorted a laugh, then gestured to one of the seats in front of her desk. I sat down and we traded binder-clipped file folders. "Yup, um... no paperless offices here!" she said, flipping through the hard-copy.

I did much the same, giving the profile of Doctor Bob Graham a once over. She was violating a few protocols to let me look at this, but neither one of us cared at that moment. Technically I was doing the same, but with Jo it just didn't feel like it. We'd been brother & (little) sister in arms for far too long.

"Doctor Graham, what are you hiding?" I wondered aloud as I started reading.

As it turned out, not a whole lot. Pretty standard employment record, a regular producer, but none of his productions were what anyone would call outstanding. A record for insightful and resourceful, if somewhat ponderous, thinking. A science star he was not, but rather a good solid team player who was very capable of enhancing almost any team he was on.

I did find, however, a record of dispute between himself and Tom Baxter. Interesting. The record was sealed, however. I looked up at Jo to see her putting down the VR presence glasses. The idea of the 3D presentation didn't hamper her as much as me, apparently. Then again she hadn't murdered her surrogate little sister's best friend.

I showed her the page I was looking at. Neat typing was only about 20% visible, with the remainder redacted and blacked out. "What's this?" I asked.

Her brows furrowed as she considered the page. "Right, incident between Doctors Graham and Baxter. _I_", she said, emphasizing the pronoun, "sealed the record about a year-and-a-half ago. I need approval from one of Mansfield's flunkies to unseal it, including a written report of _why_ I redacted it, to do so. It's a long and painful process." I didn't miss the sardonic twist to her words. Subtext, the _other_ Jo Lupo, a.k.a. Director Fargo's Bulldog (Do not tell her I said that, or even heard it!) had done the deed, not the Jo I knew. And she couldn't get it back without telling the secretary what it was in the first place.

"Damn" I said.

"No kidding" she said.

"So?" I asked, gesturing at the headset. "Thoughts?"

"FUBAR" she replied, straight faced, serious. There was, however, a bit of a twinkle in here eye. It was a sad, desperate situation, but it was also a challenge that meant she wouldn't be solving marriage disputes for pampered scientists. I chuckled a little.

"This transcript is interesting", she said, picking up on exactly the same things I had.

"No kidding" I said. Again that dry, sardonic, laugh answered me, though her eyes went serious pretty fast.

"Someone cut the line" she said.

"Yeah. The girls' argument... boyfriend?" I asked. "I haven't pulled Pilar's school records yet." That was such a good idea I immediately texted Andy with the instructions while Jo and I talked.

"Maybe," she said. "Zoe might know more about that, I don't think you're going to get anything good out of Pilar's folks, not without arresting them." I nodded, again trying to relieve the tension in my neck. "I can run point on that, if you want, Jack. I know Bob, and since it wasn't me that did the deed, I can probably have a civil conversation with him."

"Thanks, Jo. I really appreciate that." And I did. "Andy's good at ferreting out lies, but the whole 'I'm not a real boy' thing generally leads him to ask _all_ the wrong questions." She laughed bemusedly response.

"Ah yes, the tin lawman" she smirked.

"Hey, don't knock it Lupo, I mean, look at that report!" She laughed a little, her smile genuine. I added, "Hey, could you also have a look at Tom Baxter's file? He hasn't asked about there being another man in the house, and I'm starting to wonder if Unidentified Male #1 might be him."

"Sure thing, Carter." she said. I took a download copy of what she could give me and made my way to GD Medical.

* * *

I managed to miss the actual procedure of Pilar Graham's autopsy. Back when I was a Marshall I'd had to attend more than one such proceeding, and they were among my least favorite parts of the job. The first few had left me with top shelf nightmares. I'd managed to replace those with even worse dreams a few years into the job. Such an achievement. Still, Eureka had been kind to me in that, while bad stuff happened, I had far more happy memories here than horrible ones.

I met Allison in her office. I usually find her in the research lab, though that's a much more public space. For what amounted to a coroner's jury, the private office was better. Apparently her taste in decoration now was the same as it had been in our original time line, it was almost like stepping into the director's office of the old GD, sans gigantic wraparound window and, presumably, mile-and-a-half long shaft beneath our feet.

She was still dressed in her scrubs and a lab coat. Obviously she'd not yet had time to switch into the more elegant attire she preferred for office work. Give the lady points for class, she always looked her best. Even all dressed up for wet work she still made my heart skip a beat.

She stood up from her desk as I entered, and we met in the middle for an embrace and a somewhat chaste kiss.

"Seeing you like this makes me want to play 'Doctor'" I said with a grin. I couldn't help it. "You still have that nurse's uniform, right?"

She smile and swatted my arm. "Jack!" she protested that, her voice faux modesty. She certainly didn't try to get away. Again, levity is a necessity. We separated a moment later and I sat down in front of her desk while she pulled files.

"So," she began. "Going through the routine, the cause of death you're well aware of." I blanched a little and she grimaced in sympathy. "If it helps any, Jack, she didn't suffer. The shot pretty much obliterated her primary motor cortex and ceased all higher motor function. It also took out most of the brain stem and basal ganglia. As far as her awareness was concerned everything would have went to black, instantly."

"Great," I muttered, "I'm efficient at killing little girls". She spared me a look and shook her head.

"It's sad, honey, it really is, but you did what you had to do. Look, if you'd shot any differently she might have reflexively pulled the trigger. Then you'd have two corpses to deal with." It stung, but I accepted her statement for what it was: honesty. Soft, yes, forgiving, yes, but like I've said she's perceptive and tough. She knew facts would help counter some of the remorse and self-recriminations. "And what if you hadn't?" she continued. "Tom Baxter would be dead and she might have shot you instead! I feel horrible for saying this, but I'll take you over her, and gladly!"

"It's not that simple, Allison." I said, unwilling to accept the atonement.

"I'll miss her, too, Jack. She was Zoe's best friend, she..." Allison locked eyes with me, then sighed and nodded.

She tapped a few soft keys on her tablet and a hologram of Pilar appeared, draped in an autopsy shroud. It was mercifully clean, with wire frames filling in the missing parts of her head. Manipulating the tablet, Allison brought to focus up to the girl's skull and the shaved pate of the girl's remaining cranium faded out to a ghost presence so her that (what was left of) her brain was visible. A host of neon fly outs began peppering the hologram, each touching at one end a section of the brain, and at the other a flag filled with some sort of Latin words. I didn't follow most of them, but they started to look more and more like a forest of notes than anything else.

"Jesus, Alli... what are all these flags?" The sheer quantity of them was becoming alarming.

"Neuron misfires, and some brain damage. Her dopamine receptors are severely overstimulated. I've only seen this level of activity in heroin addicts, Jack."

"She was doping?" I asked, incredulous. God, not Pilar. The girl was _dopey_ sometimes, not a druggie. What the hell?

"No, not so far as we could tell, Jack. We couldn't find anything to indicate hypodermic use. We also looked for the unusual stuff: trans-dermal patches, subcutaneous reservoirs, things like that, but nothing. Of course we're missing some tissue" she winced an apology my way as the said that. I nodded for her to continue. "Right, it's impossible to say what might have been in the missing tissue but it's the only place left to place any outside agent responsible for what I'm seeing here."

"So you're sure this isn't natural?" I asked.

She shook her head slowly. "About 99% sure, and on the plus side of that. I've heard of cases where people with the right focus and meditation can cause their systems to flood with endorphins, but... Pilar Graham? Mistress of the Inner Mind? No. Nice girl, brilliant with chemistry, and that 'match mist' of hers is inspired."

I choked off a laugh at that. "No it is not! You never had to track down the Predator Demon Cat From Hell!"

Allison laughed at me that time, not with me. "I get no respect!" I mimed.

"Seriously, Jack. Fargo was getting set to offer her an internship after she graduated. He's got three labs already working on military applications of that stuff and Mansfield is purring like a satisfied cat!" That was news to me. Maybe I ought to introduce the General to Mabel...

I pondered for a bit. "Any chance this was some sort of elaborate murder-to-avoid-paying-royalties scheme?" It was a shot in the dark, plus I might be able to stick it to that asshole Mansfield if it was...

"No" she sighed, a mixture of regret I thought. "No, even this Mansfield isn't that cold. He talks a good game, and he's genuinely terrified we're going to accidentally nuke the western seaboard, but he plays by the rules."

She fiddled with the tablet a bit more and continued. "Besides, I haven't gotten to the really weird parts of what we found."

I felt my eyebrows go up. Super endorphin chica with dislocated limbs an psychotic murder rage wasn't weird enough?

"Okay, so we did the SAFE test like you asked and found evidence of sexual activity, but not recent enough to grab forensic evidence and figure out with whom. Doctor Manavi was able to narrow it down, however, to at most two males with whom Pilar had engaged in intercourse; possibly only one." I could tell that relating this news made Allison uncomfortable. Not that it was our place to tell the girl, were she alive, who she should sleep with. It was just that recreational sex amongst the older kids at Tesla was a really low occurrence, and most especially teen pregnancy, and neither of us could fit Pilar into that mold.

I thought about it for a bit. "Regularity?"

"Fairly. Based on tissue analysis we concluded that the encounters usually weren't extremely kind. The data is consistent with extremely rough sexual intercourse, but... Again there's incomplete markers. It had been more than a day since the last encounter." Allison's brow was furrowed as she mulled over the implications. I didn't much care for what I was thinking of myself.

"And that's the weird part?" I asked?

Her eyes lit up a little. I love her, but sometimes the folks that work here get too excited about the wrong things at really inappropriate times. I've spent four years proving that common sense isn't all that common, and less so in Eureka, Oregon. My way-smarter-than-me lady caught my expression and some of the excitement in her eyes dimmed, but only a little.

"No, Jack, the really weird part is this." A few keystrokes on the tablet brought up a hologram of what looked like some sort of cell structure. I couldn't have told you from where or what kind of cell, but I've been paying enough attention to recognize when the geniuses are showing me a cell.

"It looks odd," I said, not sure exactly what.

She urged me to continue. "What's odd about it?"

"Well for one its these two lines... here and here..." I said, pointing at a pair of thick black lines that looked like struts through the cell. "They almost look like wires."

"That's because they _are_ wires." she said. I did a double take.

"What?"

"This is one of her brain cells, fairly close to the remains of the brain stem. These are carbon-fiber nanowires, and they extend up out of the basal ganglia and all through the cerebral cortex." At this point her excitement was getting the better of her. "I can't tell for sure, but they appear to have terminated all throughout the sensory cortex regions: vision, audio, olfactory, all of it."

"Jack, do you realize what this means?" she asked excitedly.

"That someone put wires in her head, Alli... Creepy, but... I don't get it, what is so exciting?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Jack, no one has managed to do this yet! Pilar had a wired brain. Theoretically she could download experiences, especially if there was an implanted wireless transponder! Maybe even upload them! It makes telepresence completely obsolete." I gave her a blank look and she continued. "You've heard of the concept of the video doctor? How a doctor half the world away can interface with a robot arm to do complex surgery for people she could never be with? Or directly share her experience in a theater while she's engaged elsewhere?"

"Yeah, I've seen that one on TV", I said.

"With this, if we can figure out how to replicate it, you wouldn't have to do it live. You could literally record your experience and make it available for download, so that _any _doctor, _anywhere_, with the same wetware, could do the same thing! We have got to find out which project this is!"

A horrible thought hit me, right then. The look in her eyes when Pilar screamed that last denial, when the decision had been made, and my certainty that it wasn't her pulling the trigger. "Or..." I said hoarsely "Maybe someone _else_ could have reversed it. Right? Instead of offering an experience..."

The light of excitement died in Allison's eyes and her mouth opened into a little round "O" of dismay. "Oh my God..."

She sat forward in her chair, resting her arms on her desk and cradled her head. "Oh my God, Jack. That's horrible." Her eyes, slightly desperate now, made contact with mine and I reached out for her hand to offer my support. "Mind control?"

I nodded, "It fits with what I saw, Alli. Someone did this to her, and I need to find out how, and who."

She steeled herself, sat up, and started looking around her desk, somewhat at a loss. I saw her actively decide not to be sick. Finally she seemed to find her thoughts and picked up her tablet again.

"Okay... they're too small to handle, you can't touch them without breaking them, so no one opened her head to put them in, but the current thinking is that nanobots might be used to spin them like spiderwebs... They're all over her brain. I'll have to run some more tests but it makes sense that if those allow control they can influence hormones too. That explains the dopamine. I'll forward my findings to Jo... then..." By now she was up and pacing around her office, hardly pausing between breaths, using the logic chain to keep afloat.

I stood up and gathered her into my arms, providing what comfort I could with an embrace. She folded into me and I placed a kiss on top of her head. She tucked her head under my chin. Not crying, not really, just hurt. What she thought had been so special and so interesting had been turned into something ugly, mean, and destructive.

"Jack?" she whispered after a while.

"Yeah?"

Her voice was subdued. "If it's nanobots that make these... there's a lot of ways to spread those. Whoever did this might be able to affect anyone. I don't even know if we'd notice."

That was a chilling thought, but one I'd had already. "I know. Don't worry. We'll find them, we'll stop them."

I would make God damned _sure_ of that.


	6. Chapter 6

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 6

It's more than 5 hours from Eureka to Portland, so I'd had Zoe's flight connect to Eugene. That made the drive about two hours one way, give or take. A large portion of it is along the Willamette Highway (or Highway 58 if you're looking on a map, a lesson I'd learned after my first trip to Eureka). In the springtime the route is quite scenic, and gives you quite a lot of time to think. There is a whole lot of beautiful countryside, not to mention a few lakes. The Willamette valley is technically the north-westernmost part of the state. It's a great big alluvial basin caught between two ranges of the Cascade Mountains, with lots of rainfall in the spring filtering down out of both ranges to make some very rich, extremely flat farmland. Yeah, I know, I'm not so big when it comes to all the techno-wizardry, but I love hiking, and have since I was a kid and went frequently with my dad.

I tried to put off thoughts of Pilar and the situation at home, and just enjoy the ride, but anxiety and my own conscience didn't cooperate very well.

Allison's discovery during the autopsy was frankly very disturbing. I think sometimes they leave a little much on the altar of science at Global, and there's been many times that I have been thankful for some of the saner, more ethical people in town. Henry Deacon always came to mind at a time like that. I know he's got his demons, we all do (God knows, I'm no saint), but he's stood the courage of his convictions more times than I can count.

The idea of a surreptitious infection of miniature robots stringing wires in my brain left me seriously creeped out. Allison had promised to work on finding some what to either detect the invasion and perhaps stop it, but that all hinged on dormant tech in an incomplete state. She had a hunch that most of the answers were in the places my bullet had excised. Hollow point rounds, in case you're not familiar, are designed to expand after impact. A good analogy would be a bulldozer. It digs in and starts pushing, piling up more and more material as it moves inexorably onward. In the business we use terms like "wound cavity" and "stopping power", it gives the whole thing a veneer of civility and detachment. "And how's that workin' for ya, Jack?" I asked myself at one point.

I dreaded that we'd need to find another person afflicted with the brain wires to even have a clue about what to do to reverse the situation.

I had done a quick canvass of the facility before leaving, and no one, not even Fargo, had any clue about any such projects. There were a few close ones, but nothing to do with nano-whatsit brain bugs. The one-sheet on the monkey some genius had nicknamed Lobot was actually pretty disturbing. I didn't get the reference, or Fargo's snickering at the name, until he explained to me that the name was shared with a character from one of the Star Wars movies. The huge plastic case hanging off the back of the poor beast's head was just off in so many ways. A quick review of that case suddenly had me understanding some of Zane Donovan's activities... in the end the monkey had gone berserk, using lab equipment to pulp the researchers in the room with it before it grabbed the computer interface case and ripped it off of its own skull, effectively giving itself a lobotomy.

I didn't miss similarities to Pilar's bizarre actions.

Jo had said she would do some more background investigation, try and pull everything she could out of archives and what not, but the first file she'd run into had been at least 40% redacted, including some of the graduating researchers. A suspicion was growing, but I didn't have everything I needed to piece it together into a full theory.

About an hour out from Eugene I managed to break myself from the morbid meanderings and get in the mood to see my girl. The rest of the drive passed peaceably, so I didn't write it a warning. Eugene and the surrounding area are in the breadbasket of the Willamette valley. A pleasant side effect of Eureka's unique pace of periods of desperate insanity interspersed with long stretches of boredom was that I could actually read a book. You know, for enjoyment, rather than a police manual or the like. One series I'd particularly liked involved some sort of effect that had thrown technology back to the renaissance, set out here in western Oregon. With no modern technology this area had become a hotly contested, very valuable stretch of land. I'd thought for a bit how wonderful that would be, with none of Eureka's utter insanity, but the author had handily disabused such misguided notions very quickly. For all I complain, Eureka's insanity is one of the reasons we do live such good lives.

The city is quite a bit more active that Eureka, but for all that it's certainly smaller than Portland. It has a less obnoxious pace and character as well. The airport itself is really quite a small affair, only a single strip, no vast multiple concourses, or all that. Comparing it to LAX just isn't fair. It might fit in that monster's hip pocket.

I had timed things right and didn't have to wait very long for Zoe's flight to arrive and disembark. It was 8:30 when she came in to the baggage claim area, and I already had her suitcase standing up by me while I waited. My little girl, all grown up... She was dressed in an open blue blouse with a black tee shirt underneath and jeans tight enough to make me wish I still had my gun on me lest any untoward suitors magically appear, but the new hair cut and her demeanor all said 'young woman' now. Still, as long as I was alive she'd be the baby girl I'd held on that first glorious day. The reason for our reunion only reinforced that notion.

I'd ditched the uniform for this run, and Allison had been a sweetheart and let me borrow her car for the drive, so I was dressed in my usual casual wear. Zoe spotted me amongst the teeming throng of about five other people right away and did an odd walk-run up to me, accelerating as she came, and grabbed me in one of the strongest bear hugs I'd ever got from her. Emotion overwhelmed me as I returned the hug. We didn't say much of anything for a while, just reassured each other with our presence that we were still here, still alive.

I kissed the top of her head a couple of times and murmured daddyisms for a while, but let go when she started to break away. "Dad, I'm sorry I yelled at you this morning-" she began before I interrupted her.

"Hush." I said quietly. "You have every right to be mad at me, Zoe. Do not feel guilty over it."

"But-"

I interrupted her again and started rambling, my words running together. "No, you do. I wish to hell things were different about this, I really do. But she was your friend, and-"

"Dad!" she barged in. "Dad, I get it. Okay? Yeah, I'm still angry, but... Look, lets just talk in the car. Okay?" All grown up... Why do they change when you're not looking?

"Yeah," I agreed, fighting back a few tears with a happy smile. "Yeah, it's still a long drive."

"I know," she said, and continued with a light tone. "Three hours or so unless someone's invented time travel since the last time I took it!" Crap! Oops. That one almost made me miss a step! I laughed at her joke, but it was a little forced. She gave me the strangest look out of the corner of her eyes, a question nascent.

"Two-and-a-half, actually!" I said a little quickly, "And nope, no invented time travel, at least not yet." I tried for the same jovial tone, but it probably came out a little stressed. Mercifully she let it drop and I got a better handle on things. Good Christ that's the last thing I needed, someone getting wise to the Time Traveling Five (Plus One!) and sanction our illegal rear ends! I had the feeling we'd have to bring Zoe into the loop at some point, but I really dreaded that day. It had seemed, when I visited her at Harvard a few months ago, that Henry's theory with the ripples of the pond metaphor was spot on. The only changes I'd noticed were a few subtle ones from our three shared years in Eureka, and mercifully few of those.

We got to the car and I loaded up her luggage after unlocking the doors. "Oooh, shiny car, Dad! They give you a raise or something?" she said, admiring Allison's glossy black Lincoln MKX. She wasn't kidding, it really was a sweet car. But, perceptive as ever she quickly noticed Jenna's booster seat in the back. I'd started to explain when she walked over me with, "Oh ho! This is Allison's car! You smooth operator!" Her leering grin made me laugh, as well as blush scarlet.

"Aren't you supposed to be weirded out or something that the old man is getting busy?" I teased.

Her turn to blush crimson! Gotcha, kid! "Whoa, whoa, whoa! No details! Eww!" she shuddered melodramatically.

It was good to have her back, no matter the cause.

We talked quite a bit on the way home, and it was pretty evident that she thought of the place as home too, from her reminisces and the like. We had a good cry here and there too, as the reality of the situation intruded on our reunion. The talk was interspersed with moments of contemplation as the new car ate up the miles smoothly and the beautiful landscape rolled by.

About an hour out of town she turned the conversation over to the case.

"Can you tell me anything about the case, Dad?" I could tell she was putting on the brave face. Part of her wanted to hear absolutely nothing about this, likely similar to the part of me that wanted to say likewise, but she was exercising rationality and trying to gather knowledge to dispel fear and loss. I could respect that.

"A few things, yeah. Anywhere you want me to start?" I asked. I think I used some of my brave face too.

Zoe thought for a minute, then said "Okay... any idea _why_ she'd kill Luisa and Mrs. Baxter?"

"Right now, not really. There 911 recording has some info that says a few things I probably should share, and no, I'm not letting you look at it." She accepted that without fighting me. "But it looks to have involved either a boy both of them knew or were involved with. Maybe not even a boy, possibly an adult."

"Pilar _and_ Luisa?" Zoe asked me incredulously. "No way... I mean, Pilar was flirt, big time. I almost had to kick her butt for flirting with Lucas, once! I could see her finding 'the one' and maybe getting... um... a little ah... too... overzealous?" The way she trailed off at the end elicited my Dad mode.

"The rule's still three feet!" I said, somewhat desperately... well... a _lot_ desperately! "Three feet!" She only laughed at me. "I'm serious!"

She leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Don't worry, Dad! After school videos, check!" After a moment she said, "Still, though. Pilar had said _something_ about a project she was getting into... I know the Match Mist was making waves with GD and she was supremely thrilled about that. She thought they might offer a job right out of the gate, actually." Zoe paused to consider things for a bit, then continued, "But I don't think she ever mentioned any boys from home. You probably don't want to hear this but she'd ask me all the time about all the 'Ivy League Hunks', but-"

"Three feet..." I mumbled. She laughed, genuinely amused.

She thought things over for a minute and then continued. "But Luisa Baxter? As near as any of us could tell she didn't have a clue what boys were! I mean, I suppose it's _possible_, you know? In that whole realm of possible things like... well I was going to say magnetic pole reversal but... and... spontaneous human combustion... anyway." Ah, Eureka! She continued, "What I mean is that wasn't in her nature, at least when I knew her."

"Fine," I said, mulling it over. "Lets take Luisa out of the picture. You talked to Pilar a few times, did she say anything about boys, or men?" Aside from asking me to admonish _Zoe_ about hogging the aforementioned boys at Harvard... yeah, that'd been a touch awkward.

I missed Pilar's smile, I suddenly reflected. It hurt to know that she wouldn't bestow that hapless grace and charm on anyone ever again. It didn't really matter what was going on, that girl had been able to light up even the most glum and morose room. I plowed the remorse under with a promise to myself that _whoever_ had made the shooting necessary was going to pay. I know Zoe was cataloging my expressions, and I'm not very good at hiding things from her as it is.

"You really, honestly, didn't have a choice? Did you?" she asked in a soft voice.

"No, honey. No... it was her or Tom Baxter. I'd trade her for him on any day. Any day!" I said the last with my teeth grinding. I relaxed my jaw and continued, "But after that there was still a live gun and a compromised shooter. She could have immediately turned it on me, or herself, or... There were just too many variables." Zoe reached out and put her hand on my arm, rubbing back and forth lightly.

I took a stabilizing breath and continued, "I try not to talk about my work before Eureka a lot, Zoe. For good reason. I've done things I don't like remembering, and I've seen things that I wish I could forget, but those are the events that shape us. I've been in almost the same situation before. Maybe the stakes weren't as high as last night..." Had it been less than 24 hours? "But... in my job you have to act to save the lives you can. And then you learn how to deal with the rest..."

She took her hand away and considered my words. We drove in silence for a while, each with our own turmoils. After maybe a half hour had passed, she turned her head toward me and gazed at me until I glanced over to make eye contact. She said, "Dad, I forgive you."

That almost broke me. I wondered if I would ever forgive myself.

* * *

We made it home a short time later and turned in. Zoe cheerfully greeted a somewhat morose SARAH, who clumsily tried her artificial best to buoy Zoe's mood and express her condolences. I let the two get reacquainted and bid them both good night. In my room I used my PDA to contact Allison first, and promise to see her in the morning to return her car. We chatted for a while, the conversation slowly switching gears into verbal seduction... until Jenna demanded attention! Little miss Bad Timing! Adorable, though.

I spent a while going through messages that had piled up in my absence. Dr. Graham wondering where the hell I was; Dr. Baxter demanding to be let back into his house... huh. Only Dr. Graham was asking about remains, demanding to know what was taking so long. Oddly Baxter hadn't made _any_ requests, _except _ the demand to have his house returned to him. Andy had handled that one succinctly, according to the emailed report. Since Andy's reports include robot's eye videos with full forensic data analyses I was pretty sure of that. I mean, seriously... they're a minimum of 50 pages... every day! At least I'd got him to stop printing the damned things.

Well, maybe a return to the crime scene was in order...

While I was pondering that I received an urgent call from Jo. I answered briskly, noting that the 'personal encryption' packet was enable. She _really_ wanted this to be a private call... "Carter, here. What's up Jo?"

"Carter! Finally!" she exhaled noisily. "Look, next time you leave remember to keep that PDA turned on! Please?"

I chuckled a little, to which she fixed me with her angry glare. That's a feat in itself, what with no visual communication. "Jo, I was in Alli's car. There's a phone in the dash on that thing. You could've reached me anytime."

"Oh sure, on an open and unencrypted line, sure!" she barked sarcastically. There was a mumbled voice in the background. Sleepy and male. Heh. Zane and Jo, sittin' in a tree... doing more than kissing probably.

"Company?" I asked.

"Shut up, Carter" she hissed. "Okay, seriously now."

I agreed and ceased badgering her. It was so fun though, sometimes, that it was often hard to stop. "Alright, encrypted line is pretty serious. What's going on, Jo?"

"I went to see Bob Graham this afternoon, like I promised, and we had a decent talk. The man's hurting, make no mistake, but he didn't associate me with you so much so he was able to talk. I can give you hard copies in the... hey! I'm on the phone! Ah... yeah... in the morning." There was a slapping sound followed by a higher pitched, indignant 'Ow!' and a hushed "Don't make me get my taser!"

Her voice regained its assertive tenor, and I neglected to mention the overheard bedroom hi-jinks. It was more comfortable for her that way. "Anyway, hard copies in the morning if you come to my office. _I_ will have them for you, no one else." That was serious.

"What'd you find?" I pressed.

"Maybe not what you'd expect." she answered cryptically, then continued "Pilar kept a diary. After I talked to her dad for a while, and was ready to leave, really with no clue of where to go next, Annabelle comes up just hands me this pink and white thing. Perfect Miss Cheerleader kind of diary. In the last few pages she gets really incoherent, Carter. There's a real progression, or maybe regression. She keeps making reference to a 'him', but never name. The creepy part is it's like she tries to write the name at least two hundred times but only scribbles the word!"

I massaged my neck. Oh... Crap... "Jo..." I began. "Think about the wires and the brain thingy. What if-"

"I know." she said coldly, real anger in her voice. "Carter, Pilar was going insane in the last few pages, and someone _definitely_ did it to her! The last page alone just about rips out your heart!"

"This is just sick." I said, and was quiet for a few seconds furiously ramming thoughts into my head, trying to piece things together. There was something there but it wasn't all together yet. I took a deep, cleansing breath and said to the phone. "Zoe's back. I picked her up tonight."

"Oh..." said Jo, suddenly quiet. "Um... How is she?"

"Okay, actually. The drive gave us a chance to really talk."

"Is she mad? At you?" Jo asked, sympathetically. There was an implicit 'what about me?' in there too.

"She was, may still be a little. But she actually forgave me. Formally. It was really... well it still kinda chokes me up a little bit."

"Wuss" she said, but it was warm and encased in real fondness, a smile evident in her voice.

"You on the other hand..." I began. I heard her breath catch. "Jo! I'm kidding. We talked a little bit, it's still mind numbingly weird to ask her about boys, but she's not mad at you, not in the least!"

"Oh!" she said, very evidently relieved.

"She gave me a bit of a clue actually... I'll see you first thing in the morning. Did Andy grab those Tesla School records today?" I asked.

"Yup, in my office under lock and key." she replied.

"Great. Goodnight, Jo. Thank you."

"Goodnight yourself, Carter."

"Try and get some sleep" I smirked.

She sighed, then chuckled in that low, smokey voice of hers. "Shut up, Carter."

We hung up. I wouldn't be similarly distracted, but I wondered if I'd spend the night awake too.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

_The book series I'm referring to during Carter's drive it by S.M_. _Stirling and begins with "Dies the Fire"_. _The early parts are fairly awful tales of survival in a world utterly dependent on its technology, and for all it's hocus pocus (technically the human mind falls in the same category of high energy reactions that the book explains is mysteriously outlawed), its occasionally agonizing triteness, it's a great story_. _Hakkaa päälle, Bearkillers!_

_I think I reacted more to Jack and Zoe's reunion than I did to Jack and Allison's in Chapter 3_. _Dammit I didn't count on this story being this much of an emotional roller coaster for me to write, but the characters keep surprising me_. _I am trying to make them as true to the wonderful performances I've so enjoyed on the show, and I hope I'm doing that well enough.  
_

_I finished my outline, or at least the latest draft of it_. _It is a bit like herding cats though, the characters are always telling me something or other I didn't include_. _There's still a long haul to go (presently another 11 chapters) so I hope you all decide to stick with it!  
_


	7. Chapter 7

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 7

If anything Jo had undersold the sad desperation in those last few pages of Pilar's journal. I found out first-hand the next day when I met her once more in her office at Global. I'm no handwriting expert, but even the most unskilled observer would have to work to miss it, it was that obvious.

After I was seated she pushed across a tall thermal-insulated cup of Cafe Diem's Vinspresso. I wasn't exactly evolved in my reaction, groaning aloud after the first sip and muttering, "Marry me!"

She blinked, surprised, then stammered, "Um... No?"

"Oh c'mon Jo, I'll have your babies." I teased.

"Sorry, Carter." she said, not rising to the occasion. "After that-" she rapped on the binder-clipped file folder on her desk "-I'm not much in the mood for banter." There was ice in her eyes as she said it.

I nodded, "Sorry, Jo. Just trying to lighten the mood. After what you said I'm not looking forward to reading that."

"Yeah. Look, I've got some things to put lids back on around here. I'm going to leave you alone for a bit. Radio me if you need something." I signaled my assent, and she stood perfunctorily and walked out of the office, her spine ramrod straight and a fair chunk of angry energy. I knew it wasn't all for me...

I felt like a lecherous voyeur going through the book, reading her hopes and dreams, her successes and her failures, her secret wishes and deepest fears. Every page a new reminder of a life cut short far before its vibrant prime. Jo had excised several pages from the middle of my copy, including in their place a sternly written note informing me that they had nothing to do with the case. I managed to piece together that they were apparently about me, a decidedly uncomfortable revelation.

There is a marked change about seven months back. Prior to this point she's happy, bubbly, occasionally frightened or jealous. She entertains various future plans, but seems more Pike she's drifting through the motions. A brilliant girl (remember, a 111 IQ is enough to get you the dunce cap around here... the smart asses...) Her records show her passing all classes with a 3.7 average , but a common note reads: "If Miss Graham would only apply herself with more enthusiasm and attention to detail, I am sure she would truly excel."

Then comes a class that Doctor Baxter is teaching: Advanced Placement Nanomolecular Chemistry. I took a break to look that up, discovering a whole lot of overview sites that defined the words but didn't tell me much else. In short it's the science of creating nanomachines to create more nanomachines. Endlessly, if there's enough raw carbon, which apparently we're made of.

Soon after she starts this class, her notes in the diary become excited, breathlessly describing theory that's beyond my pay grade. Her plans for the future suddenly become sharper, she also writes about how her new compounds can finally make the Match Mist a viable property. All the goodies she sent with me for Zoe on my surprise visit to Harvard come from new understanding achieved in this one class.

School records indicate a new tutoring arrangement with Dr. Baxter in addition to her already impressive list or extra-curricular activities, and her journal records how much she likes Luisa, finding the girl shy and withdrawn, but fun. More ideas flood the pages, some half finished, some fully formed. It's awe inspiring, vivid, brilliant, and the single saddest thing I've ever read.

About three weeks ago she starts gushing about "him". There's something illicit and scandalous about it, but for the week the reported crush is just that. She describes him as "So not my type but..." and "So smart it makes me hot!" but "He has her, and it wouldn't be right! Luisa would kill me if she knew!" Maybe Luisa _did_ have a secret boyfriend? Unidentified Male #1?

Four days later is a new page with only the word "EUREKA!" and a ton of jazzy squiggling marks. Around the border in fine print are the words "It works! It works!" repeated over and over again.

Immediately after this page there are enough paper scraps jammed into the spiral binding to indicate at least 10 missing pages. Every single page following, except the last four, is filled with random scribbles, repeated attempts to mark a word that meanders into nothingness.

She makes several attempts to explain things that read like the earlier brilliance, except that each theory and hypothesis ends in randomness, with confused & disjointed phrases.

The penultimate 3 pages are filled with repeated attempts to write the same word in the phrase "His name is-". The very last page is a simple cartoon. There is a precisely lettered nursery rhyme across the top and a caricature of Humpty Dumpty in the middle, broken at the bottom of his wall with a Colt m1911 pistol in his left hand. The bottom half of the page is a dense string of numbers in groups of two to four digits each.

In the margin on the very bottom is a simple but precise line of text that reads: "Now it's time to go read my bible."

I put down the hard-copy and rubbed at the bridge of my nose, a useless gesture to relieve my aggravation and discomfort. The old log book I'd put away after becoming Eureka's Sheriff weighed like a stone in my hand. It was small, top-bound, soft sided tablet with a loop for a pen. It wasn't my first such book, I'd gone through a few of them, but it was the most recent. In it were my observations from Pilar's journal, most recently, but also the various notes I'd taken over the years as a U.S. Marshall. The voices of the ones I hadn't saved still called to me softly from its pages.

* * *

I don't think Pilar's school records were entirely a dead end, but they didn't really shed any new light on the case. They did provide me with a much firmer grounding in her habits and course activities, as well as various extra-curricular activities and her performance in them. Allison had been right, the girl's best performance was with chemistry, and it was consistently the only classes that 4.0s and glowing commentary from her various instructors. That in itself is an accomplishment.

I'd been through a few parent-teacher sit-downs from Zoe's tenure at Tesla, and the school has its pick of the world's best and brightest, and those teachers know it. They are the most demanding lot I've ever been exposed to, and as Sheriff I'd been exposed to... I shuddered, my train of thought choosing that moment to fly off the rails. I still had perfect recall of that damned shared dream! Oh man... Bad enough to remember it yourself, but it'd been a solid two weeks before Jo could even look me in the face! Right...

When you're trying to find out what causes someone to kill, and trust me only the sickest of us really, really wants to, you look for discrepancies, oddities. With Pilar the biggest change was Baxter's class, but that was a positive change. Not usually what triggers homicidal death rages. Without any new fantastic insights I think I'd got as far as I could with the reports. One fact did stand out to me, however. In the last two weeks her caloric intake had increased significantly, going from an average 1750c to a relatively staggering 3200c. I'd expect that in someone trying to jump start for bodybuilding but that sure as hell wasn't Pilar... I noted that one for Allison's research.

Jo came back as I was rebinding the reports. She never liked my habit of letting the pages lie loose leaf on the reading surface, said it was sloppy. Personally it let me mix and match different pieces, trying out new chains of logic like one of those magnetic puzzles you put on your refrigerator. Well... if your refrigerator weren't self-aware.

"Everything safe and secure?" I asked as she came in, Lieutenant Hanson in tow. Hanson was a good kid, fresh into town on state-side duty after deployment to some classified hellhole. A little overzealous with the "sir, yes sirs", but well meaning, and genuinely humble. He had a remarkably normal looking folding box in his hands, but the lid was taped down in red "EVIDENCE" stickers and the monogram on the side read "Property of Tesla High School, Eureka, OR".

"Funny, Carter." she said with a smirk. "Thank you, Lieutenant, you can leave the box there." He deposited the box on the floor at his feet and she dismissed him with a sharp nod while standing at a close approximation to parade rest. He snapped to attention cleanly and clipped off a precise "Ma'am. Sheriff." with his salute. I nodded in return and he turned and left.

"What's in the box?"

"The contents of Pilar Graham's lockers at Tesla. I sent Harrison over for them this morning." She picked up the box and put it on her desk, quickly breaking the seals and opening the top.

"Principal Wallace sends her regards, and thanks for helping out with Professor Amels last month." Williams was was a decent lady, a bit too forgiving on some of the more flagrant producers for my tastes, but Global had far more to do with the school's policies in that area than I liked anyway. Still, she did run a tight ship and I hardly ever had to go there to resolve any life threatening issues. I demurred over the compliment and looked in the box: Books, spare clothes, some cosmetics, a few feminine products, and a team swim suit.

As I looked I asked Jo, "How are things at the school?" Dumb ass. How _would_ things be at the school? Two dead students and and one parent...

"About like you'd expect" she replied. "Grief counselors all over... shrines to Pilar and Luisa, both together and separate. They're going to do a candlelight vigil tonight." She hesitated then added "I thought I'd take Zoe to it."

I didn't muster any words for a bit. The last thing most of those kids would want to see was me. "Yeah... um... sure. If she want's to go that would be great."

In looking through the collected articles I found no fewer than three "bibles". Two of them were textbooks, the third was a small privately bound book with a sunny embossing on the top "Bible of the Bio" which turned out to be a logbook for her chemistry experiments and detailed write ups on several of her hypotheses.

The back quarter of the book had a lot to do with her early days in the Nanomolecular Chemistry class. I pored over that one, both Jo and I excited as we began turning pages. Maybe this was it? We compared it to printouts from the Diary, but if the numbers on the bottom of the last page had anything to do with the bio bible we didn't see it. The other two, the textbooks, had lots of underlines and highlights, but were similarly dead ends.

I sat down in the chair with an exasperated sigh. "Anywhere on the relationship angles, Jo?"

"Nada" came her disappointed reply. "I spoke with Williams this morning, but she didn't have anything either. I've got a list of associates we can grill, but that's about it. In fact I'm going to have to hand that one off to you."

I accepted the piece of paper she offered. Despite Global's influences on the school, it fell within the jurisdiction of the Sheriff's department. Written on the school's letterhead was a printed list of both Pilar's and Luisa's friends. Pilar had quite a few more than Luisa, but the younger girl's list was far from empty.

"Thanks, Jo. Your help's been invaluable" I said.

She smiled smugly, saying "True", then sobered a little and continued, "not as invaluable as I'd have liked, though."

"Still." I reassured her. I left her to her work.

* * *

On my way back to town I asked my deputy to round up Tom Baxter so we could have a word. Since the incident my opinion of the man had been steadily declining. He had made three separate calls to my office demanding to be allowed back onto his property, and not _one_ of them to ask about when the remains of his wife or daughter would be released. In addition he'd called Fargo at least twice.

It's hard not to notice Deputy Andy. He is, after all, a robot. Oh the exterior work they've done on him is second to none, he _looks_ absolutely human. He just doesn't _behave_ human. He was sitting at Jo's old desk, which I guess has been his for quite some time, working on the computer. Now when I say that it gives a certain impression. When Andy works on or with a computer he sits stock still, like a statue, with a single wire extending from his left index fingertip into a universal interface. No pounding keys, no pauses for consideration, just direct application and single minded determination. All the while he has what I call his "Hi, I'm a Real Human" smile firmly in place. It never stops being creepy.

In my holding cell, on the other hand, was a morose looking Dr. Tom Baxter.

"What's up, Doc?" I greeted as I walked in. Universally these guys _hate_ that. Right now I didn't much care. Predictably he stiffened, then stood up from his stoop on the bunk and made his way to the cell door. He was pumping up his swagger in an effort to bully me, but he's not the kind of guy that could make me fall for it. It's not the looks. I'm sure you've seen it on TV and in the movies, but I've worked with some genuinely scary guys. The type that ooze confidence and carry themselves with composure, but don't threaten. Because they don't have to.

Baxter, on the other hand, was sweating nervously, his nostrils were flared, and the veins stood out on his temples. And honestly? Pilar Graham had manhandled him with a dislocated shoulder and he'd pissed his damned pants! His adam's apple was bobbing as he swallowed nervously "This!" he began, "Is an outrage". His voice rose in pitch as he talked. "How _dare_ you have me locked up, you... you... you... _incompetent!_"

I turned to Andy. "Hey Deputy, what's he in for?"

Without any indication that he'd been motionless as a statue in a park he looked at me and said in that overly saccharine voice "Good Eveneing, Sheriff! Doctor Baxter is presently being detained for assault on a peace officer! Me!" Not once did he loose the 'charming' demeanor and vaguely sing song voice.

"I did not!" squeaked Baxter.

"Doctor Baxter, it is not good for you to lie!" replied the robot. "I have visual and auditory logs proving my statement."

I sighed melodramatically, gesturing to my deputy. "Doc, not only did you attack a cop, you attacked the the terminator..."

"Sheriff Carter, I really don't like that appellation-" he began, _still_ in that unperturbed sing-song, but I interrupted by holding up my hand.

"Making a point to the doctor, Andy. I know." He _is_ good at his job, though. I turned to Baxter, who seemed to have lost his head of steam. "Seriously, Baxter, what's going on? Three calls, each more desperate than the last, two or more to the Director demanding I be fired. Not a single one to _anyone_ asking for Sharon and Luisa's bodies?"

He stammered, not looking me in the eye, flushing with either embarrassment or consternation. I wasn't sure which. He stepped back from the bars and stood in the cell. "My work is important, Sheriff. I need to get back to it."

"I checked into your work, Doc." I announced, hooking my thumbs in my belt. The Andy Griffith pose really unsettles these guys. Some of them think it's insulting, others think it shows how stupid I am. "There's nothing on the list that Director Fargo showed me that isn't being covered by one of your associates." All the truth. "I'm pretty sure that if you're on the white list he would be crawling up my backside to get you back to work. You _know_ Director Fargo." Well, that last bit wasn't true, but Baxter didn't know that.

"You don't understand" he said in a subdued tone. "You can't." He was fidgeting a little bit. Nervousness, sure, but that's expected with the lawdog grilling you while you're in a cell.

So, time to start taking shots and seeing the reactions... I got a result on round one. "Tell me what you and Pilar Graham were working on during your tutoring sessions." I really could have shot him for a better reaction. He flinched and looked at me with this odd combination of anger, fear, and... something else I didn't recognize.

"N-n-n-... Nothing... Sheriff." he stuttered. "I-I-I... It was a typical off-site tutoring/mentoring c-contract. N-nothing out of the ordinary."

"Protestations of innocence and I haven't even accused you, Doc." I drawled out. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" he yelled at me, suddenly agitated. "Graham was a fantastic student, damn your eyes! I want to find out what happened to her as much as you do!"

No mention of his wife or daughter. Still.

"Were you sleeping with her?" I asked, cold and low.

He froze, locking eyes with me. "Fuck you." he spat

I yelled and lunged at the cage, slamming my right hand against the bars! "Not an answer, Baxter!"

He blinked at my outburst, his anger redoubling on itself, reinforcing his nerve as he got in my face. "No! I was not!"

I smirked and stepped back from the bars, turning to Andy and raising an eyebrow. The robot returned the expression then said, "There is a high probability that the good doctor is lying, Sheriff."

The doctor deflated and went back to the bench. I turned back to him. "Well?"

"I... I wanted to, but she... refused..." Why does it always come down to this? "Am I under arrest?"

The disgust was evident in my voice, "I'd love to throw you in a pit, honestly. Andy? What was the assault?"

Unlike me there was absolutely zero condemnation in his voice. "Oh, well when I asked the good doctor to come to the office he refused. I asked again and he pushed me, or tried to, but my servos are designed with sufficient power to resist such applications of force... and... he does not push very hard."

"That's it?" I asked, a little upset. Why can't the asshole have just taken a swing? "A push?"

"Well, it isn't a danger to me, personally, but a less prepared or well made individual might have suffered harm, so... I deemed it assault and arrested him." He explained in exaggerated tones, escalating in pitch until he ended with a bright 'real boy' smile.

"Alright, Baxter-" I began

"_Doctor_ Baxter-" he said loftily

"Don't push it!" I growled back. "I can't hold you on that, no matter how much I want to. You're free to go, but your home is still a crime scene. You are not allowed on the property, got it?"

He walked out of the cell as I opened it, once again refusing to meet my eyes. "I need-"

"No! Push it and I _will_ lock you up on obstruction of justice! Get out of here... but do _not_ leave town." I walked over to my desk and sat down while the man I seriously regretted saving walked into the afternoon light.

* * *

I asked Jo to post a security detail around the house, sharing some of the news with her. She heatedly swore she was going to go castrate him, but I think I talked her out of it. After all we didn't have any evidence that he _was_ the guy taking advantage of Pilar, and until I had that all I could do was hate the guy.

Douglas Fargo surprised me, though in hindsight I should've given him the benefit of the doubt. When I asked for Baxter to be frozen out of his home office systems and explained why, Fargo complied immediately. There was an implied threat of review leading to guaranteed termination, but I settled for an official sanction on Baxter's tutoring privileges.

After that I used the mighty powers of the telephone to call many of the kids on the list the principal had provided Jo. Several were uncomfortable talking to me, one or two of Pilar's friends outright hostile even. I worked through it, but wound up with hardly anything to show for it. Usually, as a Marshall, you'd let the Barny Fifes do the door-to-doors. Sheriffs don't get it so cushy. Those I couldn't reach by phone I had to track down and talk to personally. By six o'clock the light was fading, none of the kids had given me anything I could use, and I was hungry.

I called Allison. "Jack." she answered with a smile, her voice pleased. "How are you doing?"

"I could ask the same, pretty lady." I answered her. "I'm beat, leads aren't turning out, and I'm hungry. Want to grab Kevin and Jenna and meet me at Cafe Diem?"

Again, smiling, she said "I'd love to. I'm starving! Kevin's going to the vigil tonight with Zoe and Jo, though, so it will be just me and Jenna. I hope it's okay that it'll be just us girls..." she teased.

"Me and dinner with the two prettiest girls in town? Oh, I think I can manage that." Yeah, I could definitely manage that. Twist my arm!

"A half hour then, I'm just getting home. Let me change and pick up Jenna and I'll be there." she promised.

"Love you," we said at almost the same time, then laughed, then disconnected.

* * *

_**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**_

_Carter's observation with the notebook is inspired heavily by my favorite suspense/mystery author Michael Connelly and his tough-as-nails LA cop Harry Bosch. In the book "Lost Light" he is haunted by one of his unsolved cases, and tries to solve it after retirement as a P.I. It's this almost wounded dedication that I think most informs me of Carter's ghosts. Of course Jack has a much happier life that Bosch, and there is a lot more joy in his life even in the midst of this tragedy._


	8. Chapter 8

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 8

Allison's house has the one thing I miss most from living in a bunker for four years. In the morning, when the sun's rising over the Cascades, the dining room is just flooded with light. I hesitate to number it among the little things, because the feeling of sun on your skin is so profound when you're not used to it, especially when you're in a reflective mood.

I sat at the table in a loose pair of boxers and a tank top, enjoying the morning light while I helped her baby daughter Jenna through breakfast. I love kids, and you'd be a heartless, cold, joyless person to not be affected by that cutie. Alli may have been able to pick a better godparent than me, but I sure wasn't going to complain.

If I were honest with myself, I knew right then and there that I wanted to marry Allison, make this official. Adopt Kevin (if he'd have it) and Jenna...

We'd made it through the fruit, and some of the cut up bits of French toast, and were working on the applesauce right at the moment. Me waving around the spoon and doing the whole airplane game.

"Comin' in for the landing" I mewled in baby talk, then made plane noises as I brought the spoonful in, much to her delight. One more bite down!

"And the airplane takes off!" I continued, hoisting another scoop as she finished the last.

I had regrets, but who doesn't? Not about this, that's for sure. Not about Alli, not on your life! I regretted that I had been so useless at the little things like this when Zoe was born. It was early in my career, and I'd yet to really, truly learn how important family was. My job was first, Zoe and Abbey second. Oh, I'd have called you a liar if you accused me of that to my face, or a slanderer, or arrested you. But it had taken Eureka to see how much I'd missed, and how much I didn't know that I loved my daughter.

I thought briefly of the similarities, of Jenna growing up with an absent father...

More burbling plane noises and I brought the laden spoon in for yet another successful landing. The little girl giggled and happily accepted the next spoonful.

Alli walked back into the kitchen with a very pleased smile on her face, picking up the coffee mug I'd left on the counter for her with a murmured "thanks". She'd taken care of fixing food for little Jenna first, allowing me the honors of feeding her, then had gone to take her shower. I regretted that no Kevin or no nanny here meant that we wouldn't be _sharing_ the shower... but hey.

She was dressed in a turquoise bathrobe that I found particularly interesting, most especially because it ended about an inch above her knees and showed off her wonderful figure to extremely great advantage. She noticed me looking and blew me a kiss, then started our breakfast. I continued looking, mesmerized... right up until little miss Jenna squealed happily-mangling what I thought was the word "Applesauce!"-and just as I turned back to look upended the small bowl of it all over her head!

She laughed merrily, clapping hands covered in the gooey paste, delightedly squealing "Applesauce!" (kinda), and leaving me staring, mouth agape.

Allison burst out in belly laughs with a strangled "oh no!" as she witnessed my absolute shock.

"Hey!" I demanded, to no one in particular, "Not funny!" but I couldn't help laughing myself, which just encouraged Jenna to further splatter applesauce all over, absolutely thrilled with her achievement.

Allison laughed at me, saying with a grin, "I'm cooking breakfast! _You_ get to deal with that!" She blew me another kiss. I sighed, amused despite my protestations, and proceeded about the work of cleaning up the Applesauce Apocalypse.

* * *

A little later Alli and I sat down to enjoy our breakfast. Jenna was in a playpen with some sort of super-advanced toddler toy that I wasn't sure _I_ understood, but then as she'd pointed out once I wasn't the one with a PhD in early child development either.

She'd cooked for us a very fine breakfast of more of that French toast made from sourdough, seasoned with something she insisted was a family secret, a slice of fresh cantaloupe, some strawberries, and a brand of bacon that tasted divine, but was supposedly even better for you than that abominable turkey crap.

We sat together at the table, softly talking about nothing and drinking our coffee. I could get used to this. Not every day would be the bright spring morning, I wasn't naive, but I'd take a hundred of those days for just one of these mornings.

Eventually the day got underway, and with the pressures facing us there was no playing hooky, however much I wanted to. A shadow seemed to pass over us, maybe it was my imagination, but we both fell into shop talk without any awkward meanderings. Just one moment idle patter, the next a joint realization that the trip to fantasy land was over for a little while.

Back to work.

"I think we may have found out something, Jack." she said, her eyes shifting to focus elsewhere for a while as she considered. I waited for her to speak. We'd been through this routine enough in the last several years to know that thousand-dollar words weren't going to explain anything to me. "The nanowires... at first we didn't understand anything about the structure, but I can tell you that the machines that build the wires fall dormant without a command and control center."

"Where would something like that be?" I asked, considering everything I knew about the case. The key here would be to take everything she'd discovered and trying to fit it together like a great big puzzle.

I tended to envision the process like I was looking for the sailboat in one of those 1300 piece puzzles. You start at the edges, adding a little more as you find the right pieces, until eventually you have enough big pieces and then with a flash of... heh... 'Eureka', it's all there.

"Inside the body. The nanites we found aren't big enough to have the additional room for a receiver of any kind. They're genius in design, however. We've been able to introduce nano-structures into patients before, but we've always needed to provide the nanites an artificial food source to build with. Most such structures are artificial anyway."

I quirked an eyebrow, asking "Artificial food source?"

"Okay... if the nanites are going to build something, they need fuel and a blueprint. Each one is incapable of making any sort of decision on its own, they're just too small. We like to avoid calling them bugs, but they work so much like ants its hard not to." I couldn't fault her excitement this time. As terrible as the situation was, this was her field and the things she was learning could save lives, assuming she could figure out how to do it responsibly.

"Bugs" I replied, the word not tasting very good. "Really?"

She nodded, smiling a little. "Think of it like this, one type assembles things, it's like a factory. It's one of the biggest types of nanite you build because it needs to be able to make all the others. It makes more of itself until you have a good factory line, then it makes worker drones that take what it makes, run out along the factory floor, and put the new piece in place according to the master blueprint."

"Hey, just because I worked construction, you don't have to make it a housebuilding gig." I smirked

She mimed a kiss, which I immediately took advantage of, leaning over quickly to meet her lips. She returned it almost immediately, but after a second murmured against my lips, "We _were_ working, here"

I didn't quite break the distance, "We've _always_ worked."

"Not what I meant" she said with a smile as she broke contact and settle back in her chair. She took another drink from her mug, noticing then it was empty. So was mine. I took her cup and mine over to the pot and refilled us while she continued.

"Flirt." she accused, then got back on track. "So, where was I before that very fine interruption?" Her soft laugh was sultry and made me want to do all sorts of things besides talking.

"Me, building houses." I said with a grin, bringing back our cups. She took hers and another sip, satisfied that I'd prepared it to her specifications.

"Not you, Jack. The nanites." she marshaled her thoughts again and continued with the science talk.

"So the assembler needs something to assemble, and up until now that has always had to be an outside source. Traditionally we give the patient a specialized saline solution that contains microscopic bits of building material, sealed so that it won't stick to any platelets in the blood stream. A prepared form of nanite is waiting near the heart to filter the blood for that material and take what it needs."

"Isn't that dangerous?" I asked, "What about heart attacks or something not being intercepted?"

She shook her head, "No, actually. The particles are treated so that they won't interfere with heart function even if they go through. Actually that brings up the other use of these robots. Instead of grabbing their components they can pass through the bloodstream looking for clots and eliminating them. It's a far less traumatic procedure than an angioplasty. Of any kind, actually"

"Huh" I said, wittily.

"Why do you think there's so few natural heart attacks here? You've see what Vincent cooks." Well... that made sense in a Eureka sort of way. It wouldn't do for your pampered scientists to die of a heart attack when they were so good at killing themselves in new and unique ways, all on their own.

"So," I prompted, "the robots either destroy something or use thingies you guys put in the bloodstream. That would require a medical procedure of some kind... an injection at least." She nodded, eyes considering me as I applied what she said to the forming sail boat in my head. "And Pilar would have needed regular injections of... something... to make carbon... what were they?"

"Nanowires" she supplied, "Carbon-fiber nanowires. Composed almost entirely of woven strands of carbon-60 bounding a single conductive string of pure molecular silver."

"Silver?" How?

"Yes." she nodded, gravely.

"How?"

She shook her head, partly awed, partly confused, sober now that the girl's name was out there like a raincloud. "Silver. Pure metal too, there is absolutely no contamination in the metal. So you're going to ask me how she got silver in her system, and I'd reply that she couldn't. Injecting silver into the body is damaging, it has to be in a liquid state, and then you have to use incredibly complex machine to even try and manipulate it on a molecular level. Nanites in a body couldn't break it down enough."

"So what, then? You said these wires were too small, they'd break if someone touched them" Okay, so maybe that was the jib instead of the mizzenmast...

"We've got projects that can break things down to molecular level, it's part of that whole quantum particle entanglement project Doctor Wheeler's been working on." she explained

"Right, the croissant teleportation lady." I recalled.

"Entanglement, not telep-"

I stopped her quickly. "Right, I know! Still, movement by zapping! Same thing..."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Still, using those machines requires clearance and logs, and I checked. No one, for years, has used those machines to try and break down silver into it's individual molecular structure."

I thought about that, then asked "But someone _has_ done that?"

She nodded. "The project that used it was a failed experiment, maybe four years ago. The list of scientists is redacted, but I did get the project name and subject."

The plot thickens. "Yeah? What was it?"

Her mouth twisted with distaste. "Project Lobot."

"The monkey?" I asked, my pitch rising. The monkey with the brain case...

"Yes, but how did you... oh. Fargo." she nodded.

"Yeah, but he couldn't get the names of the surviving researchers either. The file was redacted. I was going to ask if he'd got to it yet, the similarities between the monkey's and Pilar's brains-" And stop right there, Carter... idiot.

Allison laughed a little. "I mean, what was _done_ to their brains!" I clarified.

She agreed, "Yes, too similar. But I asked Fargo for a cleaned up version, and apparently even the Director of Research has to get approval sometimes. After standing up to the general, Douglas isn't quite the favorite lap dog anymore. It may take some time."

I shook my head. Good of him to grow a pair. I wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all Fargo, but he could stand to be a little more like his idol, Nathan Stark. A little.

"So back when we started this you said that these nanothingies-"

"Nanites." she corrected gently with an affectionate smile.

"-thingies" I insisted with a returned smile, "needed artificial fuel to process, and stuff like that. But the bugs in Pilar are different? How?"

"The genius is in the details, Jack. So is the devil. There's a chemical compound in her bloodstream that we don't recognize, something new and we're still trying to classify everything in it. It's way more than gross chemical flooding too. It's a form of nanomolecular chemistry."

Oh shit...

"We took some of the dormant nanites and a solution of Pilar's blood and a similar type, then tried one of the normal carrier control waves we use for other nanotech, and managed to get them to activate. They operated erratically, not having a blueprint to follow. They shorted out, so to speak, and began repeating their last commands over and over. We didn't recognize it but these nanites are mini-assemblers... and they don't need raw materials, Jack. They take it from the blood..." The look she gave me at the end froze my blood.

"They... they were _eating_ her?" I asked. The puzzle was coming together more rapidly, extraneous facts lining up.

"Yes, and no. These ones ran unchecked, they didn't have a master controller to prohibit or constrain action. Each nanite is a dedicated assembler, only doing the one single job it knows, but the most amazing thing is that each one was _assembling atoms_. Somehow that chemical solution enables the machines to transform human material, our base carbon, into new atomic structures. From that you can make... anything. These ones were making carbon-60 and pure silver..."

"Jesus... Eureka..." I murmured. Allison looked at me funny. I didn't answer for a bit, then shook myself. "Something in Pilar's journal, Alli. It's one of the saddest things I've read..."

"You were reading her _diary_?" Allison asked, shocked and judgment in her voice. I wasn't quite putting it together, then realized oh yeah, old man looking in a girl's diary. That wasn't creepy. No sir. Not one bit.

"Had to," I muttered, "didn't want to." I blew out my breath in exasperation. "About a month, maybe two, after starting Tom Baxter's super advanced chemical class-"

Her eyes widened, then her brow furrowed as the looked at me, "You mean the advanced placement... nano... molecular... chemistry..."

"Yup. In Pilar's journal there's a spot after starting the class where she writes 'Eureka' with all this fanfare, running on about how 'it works, it works'. If she wasn't dead I'd think it was cute and funny. Right after that things go from bad to worse, to... well to the end."

Allison considered my words for a bit then postulated, "So if she made some sort of discovery, coupled with what we know about her brilliance for chemicals... it's possible... just possible that she came up with that compound."

Just what I needed to confirm my suspicions. One more thing though. "Alli, since the bugs can eat people-stuff to make what they need, what happens to the person?"

She answered immediately "I _could_ kill them! But with a controller they would limit their diet, the whole purpose is to get the nanites to build something inside a person, there are far easier and cheaper ways to kill. However, since these were only working on the bloodstream... well you need new nutrients for your body to make more blood, so the host would get extremely hungry."

"Enough to put Pilar Graham on a 3200 calorie diet?" I asked.

She was shocked. "3200c? Are you serious?"

I just nodded.

"Um," she said, "Yes, it might, especially if they were going overtime and assembling the command and control cluster first."

The sailboat rode high on the waves for a second in the theater of my mind, my puzzle only missing a few squares here and there, and then it caught fire and burned away into ash.

The equation of murder:

Means: He had the research potential, if he had the background I thought, such as a certain monkey project who's scientists names had been redacted, then even more so.

Motive: The sick fuck had wanted to go American Beauty on Pilar.

Opportunity: Slip the victim a mickey... how the hell would she know the soda, or whatever, had been screwed with?

I could feel my teeth grinding, the emotional soup I'd been hiding from, trying to bury myself in the work, trying to assemble the facts and build a wall or reason against, started to boil. The cold rage that had been warring with guilt suddenly won.

"Jack?" asked Allison, concerned.

"Baxter..." I growled. Fuck jail. Fuck process. I was going to _kill _him!

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I neither own nor profit from the wonderful creations of Jaime Paglia and Andrew Crosby, nor the brilliant stories the writers staff for Eureka has come up with. I only wish I did. I am just playing with their toys for fun, and an educational experience. Thanks, guys!_

_**Author's Notes: **Jack needed a bit of relief, if only for a little while. At this point in their relationship Jack and Allison are still living separately, but I don't know how long that will last. Obviously he's almost ready to push it to the next level, the question being "is she?"_

_I'm sure most of you had it figured that Baxter was the villain early on. I figured it was time to make the reveal if no one else had noticed it._

_As far as the science goes, I'm not even close to being a doctor so if I screwed something up on the blood/body relationship, sorry. It sounded right to me. Likewise I am not a particle physicist so about all I know is that atoms are smaller, and if you can get enough atoms together you make molecules._

_The equation of murder bit I first read in Jim Butcher's "The Dresden Files" (White Night, specifically), but I figured I would change it up a bit rather than steal his words ;-)_

_And yes, the sailboat is intended to reference the joke in Mallrats, though I take it a different direction._

_A quick shout-out and word of thanks to fellow FFn author and personal friend Pinkpixiechick__ who has helped me quite a bit by listening to my incessant word vomit on this story and the experience of being a fanfic author. Thank you!  
_


	9. Chapter 9

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 9

I pulled up to Henry's Garage a little later that morning. I had cooled down quite a bit, in no small part thanks to Allison's influence.

"Jack! Stop!" she'd said, grabbing my arm before I could walk out the door. I'd dressed hurriedly after my revelation, and explained it to her somewhat, but there was no hiding how hot my anger was burning.

No one gets to do that to people. No one! I couldn't conceive of a worse form of rape. Body and mind, utter control. How could he even think of it? That poor girl.

"You can't go about it like this!" I was strong enough to break free from her grasp, but I let her keep me pinned to the wall. "You have to calm down."

She'd been right, so right. If I had found Tom Baxter in that state of mind I would probably have just gunned him down in the street. Then, no matter how justified I'd been, it would have been calculated, premeditated, revenge-driven murder. Like it or not, I'm a cop.

I had relented to her, given in to her rationality. When she held me for a bit, after that, us standing in the open doorway of her house, I was more thankful for her than ever. We had parted with mutual expressions of love.

I'd gone out to my car, then called up my deputy to be on the lookout for Tom Baxter. I ordered an arrest warrant for him, then called Jo. Her reaction had been about as fierce as mine, but she's got a better handle on this kind of thing than I do, probably from having been in many more direct combat situations than I ever had. We agreed to meet at Henry's, because I needed his help and it was a good mutual location to hook up on the way to the Baxter residence.

Henry Deacon, as it turned out, was working on a family vehicle parked in front of his garage.

"Hey, Jack!" he called in greeting from under the hood. As usual, dressed in his brown coveralls that Carhartt _wishes_ they could make. "Be with you in a minute!"

"That's alright, Henry, first come, first serve." I called back and tipped a nonexistent hat to the father of the family standing near Henry. A middle-aged fellow, dressed in an OSU shirt. He didn't really look like a Eurekan, and I didn't recognize his face.

While Henry worked on his car I walked over a struck up a conversation with the man. Part of my job here. We don't get strangers all that often in Eureka, and when we do there's a whole lot of fun trying to find out if they need to sign NDAs and the like. The fellow turned out to be a vacationer from up in Washington, but a former OSU student, returning home from a trip to Crater Lake. Beautiful spot, that. We parted amiably, and I passed his family on my way into the little convenience store attached to the garage.

One of Henry's surprises waiting for him when we got back to this time line was that he'd never closed the store after Spencer had left to pursue other opportunities. He and Grace, in addition to three or four kids from town getting their first taste of a job, kept the little store open during usual backwater town hours. I'll never know how those two managed a store amidst the hundreds of other things they did around town.

Grace Monroe and I chatted for a while inside the store, but my heart wasn't really in it and she could tell.

"How are you holding up, Jack?" she asked.

"Okay, for now." I half-way lied. "I think I have a lead on a person responsible for this mess".

"Oh! Well that's great, at least... well..." she trailed off, obviously not comfortable with the situation. Our relationship was awkward. One of the few people who hadn't made the journey with us that knew about our time travel, Grace had known me very well in her reality. In mine I'd been introduced to her about ten minutes before being pulled back into 1947 and Camp Eureka. While she an Henry were back on track, and I hadn't seen him happier, her relationship to the rest of us occasionally strained at the oddest times.

"It's okay, Grace." I said. "We're going to sort this out and make sure it never happens again." She accepted that statement for what it was, mostly a kind way of saying 'we don't have to talk about this if you don't want to.'

I grabbed myself a bottle juice and paid. I wanted a beer, but want and have, you know the drill. Henry and the student of the day responsible for the store came in at the same time. He gave Grace a kiss, nodded to me, and went in the back. I followed with my grim cargo in hand.

"What's up, Jack?" he asked, heading to the sink and washing his hands free of engine grime.

"I need your help, Henry. Again." he laughed goodnaturedly. This was not a new thing, and in fact lent a measure of normalcy to an otherwise unbalanced couple of days.

He gestured toward a clear area of his bench and I laid down the print-outs of Pilar's journal and the three bible books I'd uncovered.

"This is pretty grim stuff, Henry. But it's the last several pages that I need you to look at." I laid it out for him, answered some questions. He flipped through pages, absorbing the data at lightning fast speed. He paused over the last four, taking in some details that I could only guess at. He grunted like he'd been punched when he read the last page.

"You weren't joking" he muttered when he was done. I heard a big block engine outside and tires crunching on gravel. That would be Jo. On cue my PDA bleeped, letting me know she was here.

"Any clue on what those numbers mean?" I asked him.

"Yeah. They're most like a book cipher. This is the key, but what you need is the document that the key goes with. It'll be a book, or a something similar." He explained briskly.

"Like a bible?" I asked.

"Sure, sure. In fact since that's the last thing written here on the last page I'm going to guess that you're exactly right. The lines, once you find the source, will relate to specific locations in that document and let you know what the code is telling you." he finished brightly.

I grew excited myself, if it was this simple...

"Of course" he continued with a pained expression, noting the excitement on my face, "It wouldn't be just any bible, or any edition. This book will have indicators inside that correspond to the code. Without the other half of the cipher I don't think you'll find anything. These numbers correspond to notes in the primary document. Without that you can't bust it. It doesn't use logic or a formula to hid it's info, just a direct one-to-one key. I doubt even Global's mainframe could crack this on just the numbers alone. The permutations are endless."

My hopes receded. Jo came walking into the garage, dressed in a light-duty version of the combat gear her security team favored. One of the little high-tech auto rifles her security team favored hung over her shoulder, and for once she had that massive revolver she'd favored as my deputy, instead of the tiny concealable Walther she habitually carried these days.

She greeted Henry and I, then looked at me with impatience. "We going, Carter?" she asked. She was itching to bust a skull in.

"Yeah, right with you. Henry just figured out what the numbers in the back of Pilar's diary are." I informed her.

Henry quickly explained the same thing to Jo, but sensing her urgency used far less words than he usually did with me. Sometimes, I reflected, I could use the short version.

"I think there's probably quite a bit at Baxter's home office, and some of it we aren't likely to understand" I said to Henry, glancing at Jo as I said the next. "Got a few minutes to tag along and help me sort out what's going on?" Jo nodded her approval.

He blinked at me, a little shocked, then said "Sure, let me get some tools. I'll catch a ride with you, Jack." He got busy.

Jo and I left the garage proper, heading out to our trucks. Lieutenant Harrison was just coming out from the store, calling a "Thank you, ma'am," to Grace as he left, he had two energy bars in hand and a bottle of Gatorade. Jo looked at him funny as he walked up to the car, a scowl evident.

"Sorry, Ma'am" he said, blushing a little bit. "Breakfast just isn't holding me over and I saw the opportunity..."

She barked a sharp laugh and got in her Big Brother black monster GMC, shaking her head. "Well, Lieutenant?" she hollered from inside the truck as he stood there for half a second, not sure if he'd mortally offended his boss or not, then got in the truck.

I went over to my cruiser, I hesitate to actually call it a Jeep Cherokee these days, what with how many times it's been rebuilt, and with whatever handy new gadgets Henry had laying around each time. Presently he came out of the garage and joined me, and we set off.

* * *

In the daylight, the Baxter house looked quite a bit different than what I remembered from my last late night visit.

The sun had disappeared behind cloud banks piling up against the Cascades, bathing the area in that sort of perpetual indirect light that is so prevalent in the Pacific Northwest daytime. The house itself was a classic two-story box. I'd love to describe the gables, or whatever, but I'm not so up on that kind of thing. It had a driveway and an attached garage. Everything was clean and orderly.

I can't say that there's anything that really stands out about the house itself, with the exception of the holographic "POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS" barriers scattered around.

We broke the lines and drove up into the driveway. The house itself sits in a wooded clearing of about a quarter acre, and there's decoration in the region, but unlike the Graham house everything seemed... I don't know, soulless? There was an empty feeling to the place that said this wasn't a home, and never had been.

Maybe it was my own guilt speaking to me, that I hadn't made it in time.

Around the back side of the house was Baxter's private lab. Henry and I went got out of my Jeep at the same time Jo and Hanson got out of the GMC. We walked up toward the house, but as we approached the two soldier-types started getting edgy. I'm not keyed for the same situations they are, but after a second I got it.

"Wait just a minute..." I said slowly. "Isn't there supposed to be a guard on duty, Jo?" I turned to look at her and her had was up at her ear, keying the hands free for her PDA.

The missing security man's SUV was parked in the driveway, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She shook her head after a minute. "Graves isn't responding, it's his duty shift. He reported in to the command center this morning." She did a quick survey of the area, sharper and than she had before. She does it in this really precise method with her head snapping and stopping on points as she looks. She told me once it's something she learned from a guy she'd dated once in the Air Force. Your eye notices movement better in the periphery than it does in your focus cone, but it gets confused when you do sweeps, so pilots tend to engage a panorama with a snapping motion like that.

"Nothing," she said. "No sign of anything out here. Carter, you got the back? Hanson and I will take the house." Technically this was my beef, but of the two of us I sorta trusted GI Jane and her backup to something as potentially messy as house cleaning.

"Sure, Jo. Watch yourself." They both unlimbered those scary looking little assault rifles and went for the house's front door, Jo reporting the situation to her C&C center back at GD as they went. "Henry, might want to hang back a little bit. Stay at the car?"

He shook his head, "No thanks, Jack. I'll stay with you." I almost laughed when he reached into the tool kit he'd brought with him and pulled out a big wrench. He caught my look and smiled. "Trust me, I'm not playing hero here. I just don't want to be the only guy alone without a gun!".

Together we went around the house. I had the cover taken off my holster, my gun loose. The path was clear and still no signs of any sort of foul play in the area, but I kept myself alert. As we rounded the corner I called out, "Sergeant Graves? This is Sheriff Carter! You there?"

No answer. Henry and I went around the corner and noted immediate that the door to the lab building was standing open. Not a good sign. The back door to the house was closed, however. I motioned for Henry to keep an eye on the door as we crossed the back yard to the shop.

Because both of us were intent on different things, neither of us saw Graves come round the side of the lab building. He must have had his taser in hand because all I registered was a flash of motion and then a loud pop and a buzzing noise. Henry went down like a prizefighter taking a KO as the scent of ozone flooded the air.

I had a split second to assess and react, and reflexes were kicking in immediately. One of those was to catalog and detail. Graves had a sick look on his face, gaunt and withdrawn, sweaty. He was a huge man, perfect new-GD security fodder. I'm not talking body builder muscle, he was all flat slabs of hard packed meat used to doing heavy lifting and explosive action. But what stood out most was that very particular look of bug fuck nuts that had been in Pilar's eyes.

Damn but that man was fast! My gun was out and I was pointlessly yelling "Freeze!" before it cleared the holster, but he was inside my guard before I'd had the gun fully trained on him, one of those collapsible baton swinging with a full body arc.

My gun discharged, and I think I hit something, but it wasn't a kill shot. That narrow club descended out of the corner of my eye.

It connected with a thud. My vision flared white and red.

The world stopped.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **I owe the idea and implementation of the book cipher to the brilliant folks that put together USA's Burn Notice. While Pilar's document won't quite be Simone Escher's family bible, it will have some significance to come._

_I haen't forgot about Pilar's dad. If you remember he noticed something back in Chapter 3. He's still here, he's still doing his thing._

_Lastly, it's not Eureka without Henry! But now I have three principals in direct conflict, will eveyrone clear out from that scene whole and hale?_

_Thank you for reading, please review and let me know what you think so far._


	10. Chapter 10

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 10

Getting hit never feels good. Getting hit by someone who knows what they're doing feels even worse.

I slowly regained consciousness to a confused jumble of noise and a light show behind my eyelids that could rival a professional Fourth of July display. I think I gagged on bile or something, my mouth tasted horrible and the throbbing in my head was overwhelming. Whatever it was that happened when I came to, it alerted Graves. Amidst the incoherent shouting I clearly heard, "Stay down!" followed by a sharp impact to my abdomen.

That time I did vomit. Christ, that man knows how to kick too! I lay there in self-pity for a few seconds, overwhelmed by the pain, then reminded myself of a few facts of life.

One: Jack, this is your damned job! Get your ass up and do it!

Two: You moron, there are _other _people out there who need you! Feel sorry for yourself some other time!

Three... well by then I didn't need three. The shouting ended abruptly with gunfire. Multiple sharp staccato thumps that you feel in your sinus cavities as the shock waves roar outward. Not that rapid fire shit you see in Lethal Weapon movies. Calm, aimed, efficient firing where each bullet is intended to be a lethal strike.

"Stay back, Lupo!" shouted Graves, his voice raw and harsh. The big man had a lot to work with for volume so it was a pretty strong bellow. I managed to open my eyes and sort out a few things.

Sergeant Lewis Graves was standing over Henry, who (thank you, God!) was still alive. He was curled up in a nearly fetal position, his face contorted in pain. Thin wire leads ran from Henry's body back to Graves' taser. We call them tasers but they're an in house brand. They can switch between the typical neuromuscular incapacitation and a "drive stun" pain-compliance mode that you can use through the wires. Most stunners require you to push the gun itself into the target for that.

Graves had his sidearm out, pointed at the house. His position wasn't terribly well thought out, but I suspected he wasn't thinking to clearly. We were still out in the open by the back yard lab. I couldn't see Jo or Hanson.

Henry tried to move again and Graves leaned into the button with a vengeance. Henry screamed. "Fine, asshole" I thought, "Let's try some pain compliance on you."

Jo's voice, sharp with command, came from the house. "Graves! Stand down soldier! What the hell is wrong with you man?"

"I said back off, Lupo! Go away! This is between me and Carter!" What the hell? I mean... um... what the hell? I hardly knew this clown! What _possible _reason could he have for this?

Oh. Brain wires. Shit. Wait a minute. So Graves didn't have a bone to pick with me, that meant it wasn't Graves doing the talking. Baxter? What, wearing Graves like a suit? Was that even possible?

Think, Carter, think! My head still hurt. A lot. Ow.

Baxter (best guess), not Graves. Jo wouldn't know, neither would Hanson. Maybe I could talk this down, God knows I really didn't want to, I wanted to hurt Baxter, and bad! But hurting Sergeant Graves' body wouldn't (probably) hurt Baxter, so that was off the table.

"Only one way for this to end, Graves!" Jo shouted from the house. "Put down the weapons before one of us puts a bullet in you! Backup's on the way already!"

My head was clearing some. I noted the shadow behind one of the upstairs windows at the same time Graves/Baxter did. The glock instantly tracked to the window and put three bullets in. How many had he fired already? I couldn't see the spent brass in the grass, no way of knowing.

Henry groaned and I swear that Graves/Baxter grinned when he leaned on the button. Again! Alright, Jack. Henry couldn't take much more of that. Asthma and that thing don't mix very well.

"What's up, Doc?" I groaned.

There was a mild convulsion of shock in Graves body and his head slowly turn toward me, eyes wide. "Oh, ho ho! Well aren't you the smart bully cop?" he almost cackled. Really.

"Henry hasn't done anything to you, Doc. Lay off the button." I demanded, then worked enough saliva around in my mouth to gather up some of the detritus and blood and spit the mess down on the ground. I was slowly moving away from the fetal roll into a crouch. Baxter wasn't kicking me so we were okay for a second or two.

"Hasn't done shit to me?" he exclaimed in an incredulous laugh. "You really are an incompetent aren't you? Deacon! Ruined! My! Legacy!" He punctuated each exclamation with a quick shot of the pain button. Again, stuff I didn't know... freakin' redacted files.

"This lily livered eco-hippie know-it-all destroyed _years _of my best work!" Baxter screamed through Graves' mouth. Another flash of insight hit me. When Pilar had made the decision, forcing me to shoot, I had sworn something had 'come over' her. The look in Graves eyes was _exactly_ the same. Down to the facial tics.

Had Baxter, still in front of me, actually managed this and tried to suicide _through_ Pilar? Oh Jesus, God... No. If that was true... if that was true then I had killed the wrong person... I really had murdered her!

I knew then that there really worse things than Russel Klein. A sad, cowardly version of Klein with the smarts to pull off something like this. A timid little maddened animal that wanted nothing more than to inflict pain to prove it's worth or strength.

"And now, you, who just had to ruin everything... well." He smiled. Any sane person would probably call it a rictus grin, the muscles in Graves' frame stretching oddly, like they weren't used to moving like this. The arm holding the pistol came up smoothly, lining up so the biggest thing in my attention was the nearly half inch diameter bore of that gun barrel.

Come on, Jo, use what I've given you.

Just as I thought that I noticed the tiny red pinprick of a laser sight flash over Graves' chest, and there was a semi-muffled _thumpthumpthump_! Graves/Baxter staggered to one side, dropping the taser but holding on to the pistol. The tracking wavered between Graves' reflexive urge to respond to the attack and Baxter's need to put a hole in me.

I took advantage of the distraction. I had been slowly moving into a ready posture, and when the gun stopped tracking me I lunged forward. My left arm forward and cross, I forced his gun arm up with my momentum. The weapon discharged just as I got my left hand on the shoulder-crotch of his armored vest. My right hand up, I found his gun hand and pried a pair of fingers loose.

Gotcha!

With a twist and a shove, I forced him off balance. He half-stumbled. I controlled his momentum by twisting hard on the fingers I had in hand and pushing with the other hand, leveraging his greater mass down. I assisted that by hooking a leg, stripping away his support. He went down on his stomach, right arm twisted out and back to nearly the breaking point while my wrenching of his fingers in a police special form of pain compliance caused him to drop the gun.

Guys that do tae kwan do, aikido, mma, whatever; they often miss out on some of the subtler things we learned in what one of my school buddies had jokingly called Police Brutality 101. It's a martial art without a name, really, not really a philosophy so much as some really, really hurtful moves. The finger hold is one of those. I don't care if the guy out masses me by 100 pounds, give me his hand and he's all mine.

Add that to the stuff Jo's taught me, once I'd learned humility at her feet in the ring (dammit, she _is_ freakishly strong!), and maybe I could go teach Police Brutality 501: Advanced You're Mine Asshole.

Graves hollered his displeasure, and I answered by increasing my leverage. "Got you, Baxter. Let the man go, you aren't getting away with this!"

He laughed at me. It was a chilling thing, touched with a little madness, filled with spite and hate. "Got me, do you? Idiot! I don't have to feel this monkey's pain!"

Oh crap, Pilar's dislocated shoulder... With a grunt, Graves moved out from underneath me. This one I'm not trained for. The maneuver he pulled pretty much cost him any future use of his hand as I wrenched hard on the fingers, snapping them both way too far back. His shoulder popped, and the elbow and wrist joints sounded like I was stomping on bubble wrap. That was probably permanent damage.

Out of reflex I held on, but it didn't do me a whole lot of good. He got hold of me and rolled us over so that he was on top of me, wounded arm across my throat full of the big man's native strength and driven by Baxter's rage. With his other hand he reached down and, in a move that gave me a whole new definition of pain, _grabbed_ my lower floating rib.

"I'm gonna break this and drive it through your stomach, Carter. It's going to perforate the lining, and leak acid all over your insides." he drawled. "Then I think I'll start dislocating fingers, joint-by-joint!" He bounced lightly on the rib and I couldn't help it, I screamed with the pain.

"You ruined it, you stupid ape. Everything! It was going to be perfect! No loose ends. Stupid bitch suicides after it, all nice and clean. You ruined it! Now I'm gonna ruin you!" He drew back, ready to carry through on the threat, and a muted coughing thump came from my right.

There was a meaty thwack, and then his throat simply wasn't there anymore.

Blood fountained over me.

There was a stunned expression in Graves' eyes, and I looked deep within. The manic light faded, and true, horrible confusion set in. Then he was dead. I saw it happen, saw the light leave.

The corpse collapsed on me, but the grip on my rib had gone and the absence of pain was euphoric. With a grunt of exhalation, Hanson moved in and kicked Graves' body off of me. I coughed and grabbed Hanson's outstretched hand, wheezing "Good shooting, Hanson, thanks!"

"Sorry it took me so long to get there, sir. I'm kinda shocked he let me do it though, I know I broke cover." Hanson shook his head. He wasn't happy, but the adrenalin was still pumping. It would take a few minutes for the reality to set in. I didn't envy him one bit.

Jo came running up from the house and knelt down next to Henry. He weakly moved, coughed some, and groaned when she helped him sit upright. "How are you?" she asked.

He just nodded, his breathing labored, fumbling for something in his pockets. His inhaler, most likely. She turned to look at me and flinched, crying "Son of a bitch! Carter? Are _you _okay?"

I must have looked a sight. My adrenalin was still flying. This time I was sure it wasn't my own blood in my mouth I was tasting. That thought made me gag and cough, trying to spit out Graves' blood while I nodded and threw a shaky thumbs up at her.

Lieutenant Hanson was looking kinda pale though. He shook his head a bit, as if to clear it, and seemed to sag. The realization of what he'd just done probably hitting him right then. Jo saw it to, cast one last concerned glance at me, then led her man to a spot a little farther away from the corpse and helped him sit down. I overheard whispered encouragement, "You had to, Mike. You had to. It was him or Carter."

I left them to it. It wasn't my place to get in that man's mind right now. I'd be buying him a beer sometime this week, though.

Henry looked up at me and grimaced. He was breathing better, but looked very shaky. He threw a hand out and I grabbed it, assisting him in standing. Together we walked toward the lab's door.

"You okay, Jack?" he asked. "You look like hell."

"I'll be fine," I reassured him, lying a little. That one would be with me. It'd be for different reasons than Pilar, but it was somewhere between that innocent girl and the stone cold Klein.

He didn't look reassured. "Seriously, what the hell was that? I was... not very focused... but I thought you were calling him Baxter. Tom Baxter? The guy you're here for?"

I sighed. Active case files aren't supposed to leave law enforcement, and I'd been trying to limit Henry's exposure to it. He was still mayor of Eureka though, and I supposed that I could relax a bit. I explained about Allison's discovery, as concisely as possible. Every revelation caused an expression change. At first I could see that he wanted to interject, had thought of something, but he let me spill the whole story that I could before making commentary.

"Wires in the brain," he mused. "That sounds similar to a project I helped close a few years back. One of Doctor King's superb choices as Director of Research, but all I did was testify against it. I knew it was bad, and I knew they'd eventually go for human trials, so I lobbied hard to stop that. It's horrible stuff, Jack."

"Project Lobot?" I asked.

He blinked. "Well, yes, but..." he trailed off

"And was Tom Baxter part of it?" I asked. That shock may have scrambled him up a little bit if he was missing this.

"Sure, I think so. He wasn't a lead researcher, but his name was on a lot of the stuff, I think. You don't think that and this are..." he trailed off again, either distracted or thinking. With Henry you're never quite sure. Sometimes his brain just works so hard he forgets the world is around him.

"What about Bob Graham." I led him on.

"Maybe... Pilar's father? I..." and then he got it. "Was never here. Listen, Jack. In our time line the project got shut down early. I helped testify against it, but it was done and gone by the turn of the century."

I sighed. "It went farther here, Henry. Last dated report I saw on the project was set in 2006. It went a lot farther here. And almost everything about it is redacted and in Mansfield's hands." Dammit!

Just then Lieutenant Hanson burst out at Jo, "I'm fine, Chief! Just give me a minute, okay?" His tone was offended, but also strained. Jo blinked back some emotion, something the shuttered quickly. She nodded, and stood, briskly walking over toward us.

"Jesus, Carter. You look like shit!" she said. I laughed out loud at that one. Of course I would. I'd need a full scrub down for this one. Henry puzzled over the mystery I'd left him, then shook his head sharply as though dismissing something.

* * *

Mutually we decided to have a look inside the lab. By this time I found a towel inside the lab and started using it to try and clear off the blood. Disgusting work.

Second to the journal, finding the inside of that lab was one of the more disturbing things I've seen. I said before that we'd eventually find evidence on the property, but none of us really truly expected what we did find.

We puzzled over quite a few things inside, or I should say that Jo and I did. Henry seemed to know absolutely everything he was looking at. He pulled up computer screens, had a look in them, surveyed racks of chemicals and distillation gear. I'm not talking beakers and retorts and alembics, the stuff that I learned about chemistry on. The machines in here were mystifying to me.

The really disturbing part was on a GD-style tablet sitting in one corner of the office. I'm not sick enough to describe everything image for image, but lets suffice it to say that we learned who had been taking advantage of Pilar.

Jo saw a few of the images, choked and looked at me, her eyes pleading. How to make this stop? "Jail isn't good enough for this son of a bitch, Carter! Nothing is!" I agreed, but for the sake of my morals tried to believe in justice, just a little. I believed in the system, I told myself. I believed in justice.

I was lying to myself.

Jo snarled something incoherent and stormed out of the building, unable to contain her anger.

Henry glanced up to watch her leave and then went back to his work. "From a science perspective, Jack, there's interesting things here... but it's not what I need. There's missing gear. Someone removed several components, and I can tell you from the power resources routing to this lab that whatever it is takes a lot of juice."

He seemed dejected. "I can only guess about how this is going to work, but I have a fairly good idea. It's just that most of the notes that would tell me exactly what I need are scrubbed from the system. A secure data store was deleted less than 8 hours ago." He pointed at a rack of machines with blinking lights on them.

I felt weary. "What are you trying to tell me, Henry?"

"That I can't stop whatever this is from happening again, not yet, anyhow." He punctuated that throwing his hat on the lab table, disgusted.

I was about to say something more when I heard a scuffle outside, a whump of impact, and Jo grunt in pain.

Oh no!

Reacting even before Hanson's voice mangled "Carter! Come on out-" I was out the door, this time my gun was drawn before I even cleared the portal. Acting on instinct instead of stepping out, I ran out the door, trusting to speed and surprise.

In a brief glance I noticed Hanson holding Jo and a choke hold. She was doing her level best to get out of it, but he wasn't responding to the pains she was inflicting. His gun was out, pointing at the door, and his face was set in that rictus grin that had dominated Graves' features.

Not another one! I should've seen it! Appetite increase, sweats, shaky standing. Dammit, Jack, you're supposed to be the _observant _one!

As I cleared the door Hanson's Glock 23 barked several times, but the shots were badly timed. He seemed to be aiming with a very jerky arm, and as he fired Jo redoubled her efforts. The mass disparity between the two was marked, however. Given equal fighting skill, the bigger guy with the reach advantage almost always wins, so it was an even tussle between them.

I came up out of a roll on the grass, my body screaming at me that it wasn't 24 years old anymore. I lined my gun for some sort of shot but couldn't finding anything. He had Jo between us really damned good, and I wasn't going to risk her.

I had a flash of insight, and realized _why_ Baxter seemed to be having such a hard time! The kid was fighting him for all he was worth!

With a wrench and a tug he managed to bring the Glock around on me and pulled the trigger.

At the very last second Jo bucked, knocking the handgun out of the line of fire. The slide stayed open.

Empty!

I put my gun slightly off the mark so I wouldn't risk shooting Jo. Hanson's face twisted into several distinct grimaces, and he dropped the gun. "Come on, Baxter." I said, trying hard to keep the hate out of my voice. "Let the kid go. You're out of bullets, you can't reload without Jo taking the kid down!"

Hanson made the oddest mumbling gurgle, finally drawing out a half strangled "No!", then his words got a little clearer, after he stretched out his jaw and waved his tongue around, like he was trying out muscles he hadn't used in a while. Duh... because he was. "You're such an idiot, Jack Carter" Hanson/Baxter said. "You just don't appreciate how much of one you are. And now you never will!"

I'd missed the kid's hand silently creeping behind Jo's back. He suddenly yanked his free arm up, holding a freaking fragmentation grenade!

There wasn't a single thing I could do. I watched in horrified shock as Hanson's hand, under Baxter's control, thumbed out the safety pin and popped the spoon, then closed his grip on the grenade.

Oh God, no! Jo!

Second Lieutenant Michael Jacob Hanson is... was... a hero. A true, dyed in the wool All-American boy made good. I've made it a point to learn about him, about everything he'd been through up until that day, about his family, and to even be there for his funeral. Because I owe him a debt I can never repay. I owe him Jo's life.

As soon as the spoon popped, Hanson's face became utterly terrified. In a split second he issued the most pained noise I've ever heard a human being make, and I knew he'd won free of Baxter's influence. Exploding into action he pushed Jo forward, away from him. He immediately followed that by pulling the live grenade up against his armor vest and folding himself over the weapon.

Then it blew.

I don't think I can really give you an idea of what it's like to be near a grenade when it blows up. There's no flash of flame, no fire, just a concussive thump that shakes every single soft tissue in your body.

The explosion killed him. If he survived very long, it wasn't long enough for me to make it to his side. The advanced armor that GD Security wears, I think they call it Dragonskin, is really amazing stuff. On top of that this was the latest generation that GD had been working on. Their boys get the best. That vest is what contained most of the explosion. Still, a rain of steel shrapnel bits winged through the kill zone, several impacting Jo, who fell into me.

I heard myself yelling "No" over and over again as I tried to help, but honestly what followed over the next several hours is all a blur.

I am told that Henry came out, helped me to stop the bleeding while GD's medical folks made their second visit to Baxter's house in the same week. The doctors that work as paramedics around here know their craft. Between immediate first aid and profession care within minutes of injury, Jo didn't die that day.

I escaped largely unscathed, because Jo and her armor were between me and the grenade. I don't call it luck. Luck doesn't put your friends in the way of death. That's... I don't know... cruel. The divine agency laughing at you.

In the end all of us got carted back to Medical to have our injuries seen to. I refused to be parted from her on the ride.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **The darkest revelation about the story yet. I knew this was going to be rough when I sat down to write this chapter, so I hope you all can bear with it._

_I may joke a bit about the police brutality thing. I'm not trying to dismiss actual cases where jerk-offs in authority decide it's okay to be a bully. Really, when I was in school with a few friends doing criminal justice courses, they jokingly called the physical defense stuff "police brutality 101"._

_I used to be derisive to them about incomplete forms, but after one or two practice bouts I learned the hard way not to get so freakin' cocky. That crap **works**!  
_


	11. Chapter 11

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 11

The medical department at Global Dynamics is staffed and outfitted with some of the best doctors and equipment in the world. I've seen these guys crank out some amazing stuff, from bio-mechanical prostheses to actual cellular regeneration. We have the cure for the common cold out here! It's just apparently too expensive to market...

By noon, Jo and I were leaving blood on the floor. More of hers than mine, by a long shot. Between the two of us and Henry, we were the center of a hive of busy people. Shortly after we got to the medical wing, the surgeons had wheeled her out posthaste, Allison at the forefront; a general in a war to save a life.

I got checked out and stitched fairly easy. They x-rayed me and pronounced that I had hairline fractures in my ribs, severe contusions to my head, a very possible concussion, and somewhere in there I'd sprained my left ankle.

They stitched me up, handed me some spare clothes, and shoved me under a shower. I have never been more thankful for a proper shower. I stayed under the blasting, cleansing heat of the spray for a long time, trying to undo the kinks and aches. On the way out I grabbed about a half-dozen ibuprofen and washed them down with a juice from one of the lounge refrigerators.

I met Henry on my way to the waiting area. They were releasing him with a sensor module like Allison had smacked me with several years ago, during that incident with Carl Carlson. Aside from a few contusions he would be okay, they thought. No permanent damage to his respiratory system.

He went home to Grace.

I grabbed a phone and placed orders around town. With 1st and 2nd in command of Security down, the third string guy, Hernandez, was overwhelmed and not handling the job terribly well, but I managed to get him to put a lookout for Tom Baxter. Maybe we could find him. I also set Andy to an exhaustive hunt, hopefully the tin man would be able to pull it out, but I had my doubts. The bastard had gone to ground, and had what he needed to run his victims by remote, apparently.

Dressed in borrowed clothes, I went to the waiting area to begin my deathwatch. See, I didn't know then that Jo would make it. One of the fragments had slipped into the joint of her body armor at the armpit and bounced around a little bit, playing merry havoc with her innards.

While I was waiting Zoe showed up. We didn't say a lot, just hugged really hard and sat down to wait for our friend. She'd brought me a change of clothes, so at some point during the wait I slipped off to put myself back into uniform.

About an hour into our vigil another person came in to sit and do the same. I wasn't sure whether to be shocked or angry when Zane Donovan nervously sat down in the lounge, looking for all the world like someone was going to assault him. He looked at me and Zoe sitting there and froze, hands in his pockets. I thought he might actually flee.

I'd never seen the cocky young punk quite so off balance. I mean, not since the incident.

I wasn't quite sure what to do myself, but then Zoe stood up and walked over to him and put him into a big hug. Nothing flirty about it, just straight support and comfort, almost like a sister and a brother. That settled in my mind how it had gone down between the three of them.

I'd never been happy with him being into Zoe, and I still think that's part of why he was doing it. But not so long ago they had just quietly changed the dynamic. Zoe had never even appeared hurt in the whole thing, something for which I was profoundly grateful, and of course it meant that I didn't have to bust his jaw for breaking my little girl's heart.

They hugged for a bit, and then Zane did the one thing I never expected. He started crying. Zoe held him for the duration, and I got up to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit with us, if you like, Zane. We're all here for her." He sniffed, looked at me with red eyes, and nodded his thanks. Zoe held his hand and led him to one of the couches and the three of us sat and waited.

It took them a good three hours in surgery to finally track down all the bits and pieces and make sure she was patched up right.

* * *

It was 3:30 pm. or 4:00 Alli came out of the surgery ward and found us. Her gaze flickered over Zoe and Zane, a slight look of confusion on her face, then it cleared and she seemed satisfied. She came over to me first and embraced me, quicker than we normally would, but this was still business too.

"She'll make it." were her first words. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Zane clench his jaw, like he was desperately fighting himself to not burst out in fresh tears. Zoe had no such restraint and immediately leaped up to try and crush both me and Alli into one great big hug.

"We'll have her out of sedation in about a half-hour, but I only want one visitor at a time. She's lost a lot of blood, and that internal injury is ready to blow open if she gets jostled around too much, so be careful!"

In the end, mostly at Zoe's insistence, Zane was the one allowed to be the first visitor. He stayed more than his allotted time, but we didn't begrudge him that. I went next, but stayed very briefly.

She was lying in one of the hospital's beds in a secluded area of the main recovery ward. Individual rooms would've been nicer, but, beggars and choosers. She looked pale, drawn, and very weak. It hurt to see her like that. She is the strongest woman I know, always fierce, always full of fire. Before the switch up the Zane we had known had been the quenching agent, providing a balance to her too-bright flame. Since then, since we'd come back and she'd lost him to find this new callow replacement, her inner fire had hardened her. She'd gone from being tempered steel to cast iron. The problem with cast iron is that it's brittle. I hoped this wouldn't be the blow that broke her.

"Hey, kid." I said when I sat down by her bed. Right then I realized something. I didn't think of her as a friend so much as something else. I recognized the protective urge then, the desire to shelter and comfort. In the years that she'd become Zoe's surrogate big sister, I'd started to think of her as my other daughter. That realization put into place several other bits of turmoil that had been wrestling about.

"Hey, yourself, Carter. You look like shit." she said weakly, and smiled. It was a wan, fragile thing. We sat for a few while. I think we were both just satisfied we were still alive.

"Allison won't say." she said, looking me dead in the eyes. There was fire there, but it was the desperate sort. Longing for me to say one thing, dreading the other. She wouldn't thank me for lying. I tried to school my features into a sober mask, probably failing, and slowly shook my head.

"He... he didn't..." she couldn't finish the words. I know she'd lost comrades in arms before, hell she was in some incredibly nasty brush when the Global War on Terror kicked off. But I think this is the first time she'd ever lost anyone in her command.

"I'm sorry, Jo. There was nothing anyone could do for him." I tried to make it as soft as possible, love of God I knew how much this hurt. On top of that, Hanson had been her second in command, the go-to guy if Jo wasn't there.

"Oh, Mike..." was all she could manage, then the crying started. I held her hand tight, putting the other on her shoulder, and stayed there.

A little while later, once the initial shock had passed, I said "Don't blame yourself, Jo. There was nothing you, or I, could do. It was his choice, I saw it. He saved your life."

"It's not fair!" she exclaimed, not very loud but it was overfilled with raw hurt.

"No, it's not. It never is. I'm so sorry." I gave her a hand a squeeze. "If you ever need to talk about it, sometime, I'll listen."

"Thank you." she said quietly.

There wasn't much more to say after that. I stayed for a little while more, then let her know Zoe was waiting and I was clearing out.

* * *

I met with Allison afterward, back in her office. We discussed Jo's condition and prognosis

"She'll make a full recovery, in all probability, Jack." Allison explained. There were still legal issues, so she wasn't going into extreme specifics. Whatever my feelings for our friends, however I viewed her, she still wasn't legal family, so there were things Alli couldn't talk about.

"Any chance of permanent injury?" I asked. Jo had taken a hell of a beating, all the defenses aside.

"Nothing that will affect her job, Jack." she said, then looked pained. "I'm concerned about some other stuff, but it's personal in nature, and I'm not sure I should share it with you."

I grimaced, but nodded. "Then don't. If it's something Jo wants to talk about, she knows I'm available." So no physical debilitating injury, but I could work out the angles on my own. Her vest was pretty good, but it was also the light duty version of what she would've been wearing if we'd even remotely expected what we'd found. One of those pieces of shrapnel had bounced off her pelvis. Lower left side of the abdominal cavity... shit. Lots of delicate stuff there.

Alli saw me work it out. She just nodded, her eyes close to tearing up, but the stolid professional remained. "Yeah." she said.

"I don't know if she..." I started, but never finished the sentence.

Allison nodded to me. "She's been asking leading questions."

Poor Jo... I know the tough chick thing isn't all an act. It's a defense mechanism, but if you've ever seen her in church on a Sunday there's no doubt the future she wanted. Whether she'd have it now was another question.

"I've got a ton of stuff still to do, Alli. I don't know if I'll be by tonight." Better to not have the expectation anyhow.

Glad for the subject change simply nodded. "I may stay here for an extra shift myself."

We parted with a kiss and quiet declarations of love, our sorrow for our friend a mutual thing.

After that I couldn't push off paperwork anymore. There were tons of forms to fill out, incidence reports, my own log... the list goes on. On top of that it wasn't like a case like this stopped the normal routine of the sheriff's job. I spent the next several hours managing my job, and took a full report from Andy about his canvass of Doctor Baxter's lab. Fargo had already sent an investigation team, with Henry in charge. I'd have reports in the morning or tomorrow.

The last bit to sign off on was the release form for Pilar's body. GD Medical had got all they could, Alli said.

I had to find this guy before he hurt anyone else, but how?

Simple, idiot... You know what you need to do...

Yes, I did, but asking Zane Donovan to hack that deep into the DoD, and explaining why was going to be tough as hell.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts._

_**Author's Notes: **Writing a death watch is hard. It has me not looking forward to the closure at the end of this, because I can't leave the poor girl unburied or fail to give her parents closure. I struggle with Jo's injury, but if it seems crass of me, I apologize._


	12. Chapter 12

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 12

A town of three thousand doesn't run itself. Life goes by its own rhythms and for the remainder of that evening I was fairly busy running down complaints that Andy was unable to see to, specifically those folks who felt too important to be seen to by "that robot". Needless to say these aren't my favorite calls. It's probably a good thing that my office isn't elected...

It was at least nine thirty in the evening by the time I got to the bunker I called home and stumbled my way to the bed. Amidst all the weird and, yes, annoying stuff that Fargo put together with SARAH, the bed is unbelievable.

The head injury had never matured into a full concussion. I was thankful for that, but oh dear God did it still hurt.

I didn't sleep well.

Images of Graves last seconds intertwined with still frame shots of the last few seconds before I'd pulled the trigger on Pilar. Other images, confused jumbles that I barely remember, rampaged across my dreams. By 3:30 in the morning, and the fourth or fifth bad start, I called it quits.

I drug myself to the shower and parked myself under it. "SARAH, hot as I can stand..." I mumbled. So I have to take it back a little bit, the shower was pretty fantastic all on its own. I stayed in for at least a half hour, maybe more. I wasn't paying too much attention. I guess one advantage of having a nuclear powered house is that you don't run out of hot water.

This was the morning of the fourth day. Saturday. My day off. Yeah right.

Think, Carter...

Baxter had gone to ground, hiding somewhere. Chances are the EM shield contained his nanites. It's worked before on things like this. A flash of memory ambushed me. Three dozen Nathan Starks, nano-thingy copies of the bane of my existence, all righteously pissed at me for one agonizingly sweet slow dance with Allison and a nice handful of very well toned rear end. Totally worth it.

Back on track, horn dog...

So it would have to be a lab, or something similar. I knew Stark had run one in the middle of town, several folks had them at their homes. Problem was I'd already looked at the full registry and there wasn't anything else in town that Baxter was registered for, and he'd been locked out by the Director's office.

So that left white list and top secret projects. Considering all that we'd been through by now, I trusted Fargo to tell me if he knew anything, especially in light of how quickly he'd reacted earlier to this situation.

That left one of the last options possible on the table. Zane. Dammit.

Deciding I couldn't put off the rest of the world any longer I ended the shower, got some breakfast, and went down to my office. I left a message with SARAH for Zoe. Aside from our drive here we hadn't talked a whole lot, especially not after the vigil. The death watch wasn't the time to reminisce.

Vince may keep an awesome shop at Café Diem, but he doesn't run the place 24-7. I had to content myself with office coffee, but I didn't have the stomach to try for any of the food we had in the fridge.

Andy returned to the office at about six o'clock in the morning. If there was one thing I envied about him, it was that he was always upbeat, never looking beaten down by the experience. Hell I'd bet you money he didn't even know what guilt was.

"Well, good morning, Sheriff Carter." he said, goofy grin firmly in place. "Today's your day off, unless my schedule wasn't update. Why are you here?"

"Because after everything I can't sleep and I'm not taking time off until this is finished." I said, perhaps a little to testily. Not like you could tell from his reaction. Almost nothing fazed the tin man. I massaged my temples, propping my head in my hands as my elbows rested on my desk. "Any luck overnight in finding Tom Baxter?"

Andy shook his head a trifle too melodramatically, sorrow all over his features like a bad stage actor. "I'm sorry, sheriff. I've tried everything in my own systems to track him, but failed. I did find evidence of a variation of that meta-material cloaking spray that young Miss Graham worked up, but I'm not terribly familiar with the particulars of the chemical makeup. I sent a copy of my findings to mister Deacon and doctor Blake, and I'm confident they can fill in for my lack of understanding." He beamed a smile at me that did almost the opposite of reassure me.

* * *

I found myself up at Global's medical department a little later, probably around eight o'clock. I got in to see Jo without too much of a fuss. After all, badge says I yes. She looked a little better, having more color and not quite so sunken, but they still had her hooked up to machines and the I.V. lines.

When I walked into her partitioned area she gave me a wan smile. It didn't quite make it to her eyes, which had a particular haunted expression I'd seen in my own mirror that morning. I hated to see her like that, it honestly tore me up inside, especially to know that there wasn't anything I could really do for her.

I sat down next to her bed and took a hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "How are you holding up?" I asked.

"I'm fine, Carter" she said after a shuddering breath. Yeah, sure. I glanced by her bedside and noticed a half-dozen file folders sitting there.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

She easily noted my gaze and my tone and responded with a certain amount of heat. "My job! Just because I'm stuck here doesn't mean I can't work!"

Who was I to judge? I thought of half a dozen things I could say but wound up with, "Don't overdo it, Jo. No amount of makeup can undo it."

She sighed and rolled her eyes, but didn't make any more response than that. This wasn't going to be terribly easy.

"I need to ask someone for some help, Jo. And... I don't know that you're going to want to allow it, but it needs doing if I'm going to get this guy."

Miss Josefina Lupo isn't an idiot, not by a long shot. She may tell you she's the dumbest person in town, but she gives herself far too little credit. She knew exactly what I was not asking. She locked eyes with me, half begging, half reprimanding me.

"No!" she said immediately, "No, you can't ask that of him..." her words were pained.

"I don't have any other way. Everything I need to find this guy is blocked. You know you can't get the files you need..." I drew my hand over my face, as though pulling it down to try and wipe away some of the exhaustion I felt. "I even sent a request last night to Mansfield detailing the situation, and the official response is that the Chief of Security out here can get me anything I need, and since she didn't feel the need to ask these questions I should keep my nose out, thank you very much."

She shook her head, saying "Carter, if he gets... compromised..."

I squeezed her had in reassurance, saying "Yeah, Jo. I know. I'll do everything I can, even take the fall if I can."

She looked away, but nodded slowly, finally whispering "fine."

I blew out a breath. "I need to ask you, Jo. How much does he know. About... the event?"

Still looking away, her eyes narrowed. I could see her fighting to hold back tears. "We don't talk about it. After the ring he... well... he suspects something for sure, and he who." She took a breath and then faced me more squarely from the hospital bed. "What are you planning on doing?"

"I don't know, precisely." I answered, honestly. "I think, though, that if I'm pressed I'll fill in details. Is that okay with you?"

"I don't know. I just don't know" she was shaking her head. "What if it changes him? What if-"

I stopped her. "Jo. You can't hide it forever, not if you're going to be close with him. He'll figure it out eventually... if you want then I'll send him to you for the full explanation."

She nodded, still fighting back tears. Then angrily she wiped her eyes. "What the fuck am I crying for... God dammit I'm better than this!"

I chuckled, which earned me a really sharp glare. I promise I didn't flinch in response. Really. Not even a little! "Jo, it's called being human."

She laughed harshly, a single strident note of disapproval. "Yeah, well it sucks!"

I left shortly after that, promising to check back in later.

* * *

On my way out of the building I got stopped by Acting Chief Hernandez. He looked like he'd actually slept at some point in the last several hours, but hadn't gotten a whole lot of rest. Boy howdy did I sympathize on that one.

"Sheriff!" he called to me as I was crossing the rotunda on my way to the elevators and the exit. I stopped and waited for the man. A habitually clean shaving man, the stresses of filling in for Jo and Hanson must have already been weighing. He hadn't shaved this morning it looked, and the bags under his eyes didn't speak to a well rested state.

"Glad I caught you, sheriff Carter." he said when he approached, trying for a cocky grin but only managing a half-assed version of one.

"Hey, Hernandez. What can I do for you?" I asked.

He nodded and pulled up a GD slate computer, tapping a few of the keys as his spoke. "I wondered if you could check up on some of my guys. Not many ever call in sick, but today I've got four, and they're not answering calls."

Sick calls? Like I didn't have enough to do already... "Look, Jerry." I said, I didn't know him that well but I figured using his first name wold be a lot better than habitually calling him by his last. "I've got a ton of things to do. Is this an official request?"

He looked a little put off by that. "No, nothing official. It's just that these guys don't normally call in. Jim Showalter, for instance, hasn't had a sick day in three years. Hell, the man even came in with a broken pelvis last year. The man's a machine." He got a little more spine as he called me on it. "I just want you or your deputy to swing by their places and see if the guys are okay."

Yeah, not such a big deal. I nodded, "Sure, fine." I held up my PDA. "Send me the info and we'll have a look to your guys."

Hernandez nodded, said "thank you" and then smartly turned and walked away.

* * *

By a stroke of dumb luck (Or so I thought at the time, I really should have known better.) I ran into Zane Donovan on my way out to my car in the front drive-around. Sheriff's privileges means I get to park in the front loop when I show up at Global, and not in the underground parking garage that everyone else who drives in has to use.

He was walking in toward the front doors when I passed, suddenly realized who it was. "Hey, Zane. Zane!" I exclaimed, trying to grab his attention.

His head snapped up from his single minded focus on a slate, eyes reorienting on me. "Carter?"

"Walk with me for a bit?" I asked, gesturing toward my cruiser. Of all the places to talk with someone around GD, I think my cruiser would be the safest. Henry has been my mechanic for years now, and I trust that there's no bugs or anything slipped in, or else he'd tell me. I was still little nervous about the talk with Jo in the hospital. If anyone really wanted to pay attention our innuendo wouldn't be all that hard for a sufficiently paranoid person to puzzle out.

He agreed and followed me to the car. We both got in. He glanced around a bit then asked "What's up, Carter?"

Nothing for it but to be straight up. "I need your help." I loathe saying those words, and he knows it. He also delights in it. He leered at me with this big goofy grin.

"Oh really?"

Dammit he wasn't going to give me anything to work with. Punk. "Yes, really. But it's pretty heavy stuff, man. I'd love to do the back and forth with you... again... but two things."

I think he could tell the difference in my tone and body language. Donovan may be a cocky little shit, but he's not an idiot. He's easily as perceptive as they come, he just hates letting you know he cares about anything. Yeah, this was a lot like my first run down with him in my time line. I just don't think I'd be able to pull the Mom card on him again, at least not for this one.

"What two things would that be, lawdog?" He quipped, trying to maintain the smirk.

"First, you owe me. You were screwing around this summer, playing on my girl's emotions mostly in an effort to bug me." I paused, letting that sit for a little bit while he blustered.

"Oh yeah, right, I-"

"Second!" I said, interrupting him, then softened my voice, trying to be more sympathetic. "Second, I need this to help get the asshole that hurt Jo."

He had been ready to continue his protest, but his jaw snapped shut on that last sentence. I don't think I've seen him truly angry very often. Indignant, offended, outraged, falsely modest, smarmy, arrogant... I've seen all of that. But when you see someone in a tooth-grinding rage that is both quiet and certain, who's anger is almost an elemental force, you get a whole new appreciation for them. Of course, assuming they're not directing such at you...

"What do you need?" he asked quietly, turning to face forward. His fists were clenched, his jaw set.

"I need you to hack into DoD." I said gravely.

He barked a laugh, derisive and short. "Oh please... I thought you wanted something hard!"

"I'm not done." He glanced over my way. "I need you to break into protected file stores, specifically those files under Wells protocols redaction." _(A/N -See update note at bottom.)_

He blinked and held perfectly still. It was like some sort of weird movie watching as his head turned ever so slowly my way, slightly bug eyed. "What?"

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself with you braniacs- wait, scratch that, yes I am." All to familiar, actually. Fat headed ass hats. "But you heard me, Zane."

"You're serious." he said softly.

"Deadly serious." I answered quietly.

"But if you need that, it means-"

I put up a hand to stop his verbal thought. "I'm pretty sure you know what it means, but you get to talk to her about it."

He shook his head, looking away now. "But it's not just her, Carter. It's you, Deacon, Allison Blake, and Fargo-the-suddenly-multi-dimensional." He paused for a bit, considering. "And that slick Mad Men wannabe, Grant." He turned and looked me dead in the eye. I wasn't going to budge on this.

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Don't!" he snapped, real raw anger in his voice. "Don't fuck with me on this, Carter! She had my grandmother's wedding ring! My grandmother's!" I could see what was driving the anger and confusion. That ring meant a hell of a lot to him. It really did. There was a level of hurt in there that I sympathized with.

He continued, softly. "And we just work so well, it's like... like she _knows_ me so much better than... and... then she almost dies..." The tears threatened as he choked up on that. I followed the man code and ignored it, letting him have his moment.

He pulled himself back together and nodded at me in quiet thanks.

"I'm serious though, Carter. Do not screw with me on this. We've never been enemies and I don't want to be yours. You're smarter than you look-"

"Hey!" I snapped indignantly.

"And you are way to damned perceptive for someone pulling off Andy Griffith, so no. I don't want to be your enemy, but you don't want to be mine either."

No shit. I have no idea if it happened in this time line, but in mine, the first night I'd met him he'd maxed out all my credit cards (without having a single one in his possession! I never figured that one out!) and got the limits raised, and then somehow managed to reset my balances, all out of simple mischief. With someone this good with computers I really didn't want to know what he could do to me if he hated me.

"No, Zane. You're right on both counts. Besides, it's Jo we're both here for. Different reasons, sure, but the same lady. I want the son of a bitch who hurt her."

He blinked at me, thought for a second, then nodded. "Baxter. So he really did perfect a mind control ray or something, huh?"

Right... he'd been with Jo the night she revealed the journal to me over the phone. "Something like that." I said, reflecting. "A lot more invasive, and it's scary shit..."

"And that has something to do with Pilar Graham's death too, right?" he asked. I flinched a little, I didn't want to but... I nodded slowly, my own anger stirring again. Stirring... right. Try reminding my conscious brain that my inner self _really_ wanted to bust a head in. I entertained visions of using every single nasty bit of ass-kicking knowledge Jo had ever bequeathed to me on that smarmy, slim little fucker.

"Yeah, you're serious" he murmured. I forced myself to cool down a bit, realizing I'd been holding the steering wheel in a death grip. My hands hurt.

"You'll do it?"

"Yeah. But once this is over I want in." he demanded, quietly strident. "I want to know what you five know, how it happened, everything. It's not fair, you people screwing around with time. Hell it's impossible, except you did it. Fuck me if I can figure out how."

"Fine" I said. "You're in. It's not like we could keep you out after this anyhow, you'd know more about us than we do."

He looked at me speculatively. "What was I like?"

"Look Zane, I promised her-"

"No. I can talk to her about what _we_ were like, but I wanna know what you thought of the... what... old me?" He was sincere, I could tell by the posture, slightly earnest in it's forward lean, honest curiosity in the voice.

I shrugged. "A lot like you are here."

"Bullshit!" he said earnestly, if quietly.

"No, really. You're harder than the Zane I knew. You work out more, channel that anger you carry around like prize trophy you don't want to part with. And that bluster is the same, just sharper."

He did this little "tsk" noise, dismissing my comments.

I laughed a little and continued, "I'm serious. The key difference though is that where... maybe when... Anyway, in the when that I come from you had made Eureka a home and a family."

This time he did laugh. "Oh yeah, that sounds like me, white picket fence! What, I run around with pastel sweater vests and a pocket protector in the nerd heaven you come from?"

I laughed. God, what an image that was. Heh. But I hit him with the serious stick. "No, Zane. You loved Jo, and it changed you. The you I knew, anyway"

He took a deep breath and looked away. "Not fair, man."

"I know."

We were quiet for a while, then he said, "It'll take me a few hours at least. I'm going to go visit Jo first. Where-"

"My house" I said. "SARAH may be one hell of a gossip, but when it's serious stuff she is extremely loyal, plus I can be sure of no bugs, especially if I let you sweep first."

He agreed. He was getting out of the car when I had a flashback to the first time I'd noticed him making eyes at Jo in my universe. "Hey, Zane?" I said, stopping him halfway out. "Ballet."

"What?" he asked, staring at me with one eyebrow raised, confused and shocked.

"When she's feeling better, and they'll let her out, take her to the ballet." I grinned, trying to project the air of cocky assurance.

"Oh... I... um... Huh." He left then, both curious as hell and bemused. Heh. Just like the first time! That was two times now in my life I'd rendered 'The One' speechless.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** The initial contact between Carter and Zane in this story has gone all over the place. This is probably my fifth rewrite of how this goes down. It wasn't until talking to a friend that I realized just what I was doing wrong. Making Zane Donovan passive. That's the furthest thing from what he is in the show, but I just couldn't get it nailed down. With that in mind, this Zane showed up and what he's doing behind the scenes, well... we all know Zane never plays by anyone's rules but his own. At first they got into a fistfight in the halls of GD, but that didn't work after the sit-down on the death watch._

_Right now, by the way, I hate Civilization V. I was on a writing roll until a few nights ago when I decided to "take a break"... le sigh. All things in moderation, so say the sages, I guess I just need to listen!_

_I have learned a lot about my own writing both in the act of writing all of this and from the review and feedback I get from you folks, especially my frequent reviewers. Thank you all who've stuck it out thus far. Please leave me a review. Any and all criticism is welcome._

**_Update:_**_ Credit where it's due, I realized after posting that I mentioned the Wells Protocols again. AllyrienDM came up with these in her story Everything is Illuminated (read it!), and graciously has allowed me their use. For those who may be confused, those are the alluded to "time travel protocols" in the show. When Carter is asking Zane to do the hacking and mentions those protocols, Zane understands immediately that the only reason Carter would ask for that is that he or Jo cannot remember why the files they want are redacted, which means according to my version of the protocols, means that they can't get those files. Thus Carter is implicitly admitting to Zane that he's a time traveler._


	13. Chapter 13

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 13  
_(minor updates, A/N & D added, 01/18/11)_

Zoe called me shortly after I spoke with Zane, while I was on my way back to town. We decided to meet up at Cafe Diem for a brunch, and I managed to intercept Allison before she made it to Global, so she showed up with Kevin and Jenna in tow.

It was a bit of a madhouse, all five of us together at once, but as we sat, and talked, joked and shared little stories, it just felt fantastic.

"Oh come on, Zoe, you didn't leave Jack hanging, did you?" asked Kevin. Zoe was sharing her version of my impromptu visit to Harvard earlier this year. She'd mercifully glossed over that incredibly awkward dinner we'd shared at that burger joint... Bartley's I think the name was. Fantastic burgers, just a really nosy and hyper sensitive Dad tends to play merry hell with father / daughter time.

"No!" she laughed, taking a sip from her drink. "No, I found him in the bathroom. Mabel had tried to take a piece off of his nose!"

"I told you," I said, laughing "Demon cat from hell!"

Zoe swatted my arm, "Stop that! She got me an A!"

Zoe related the rest of the story and we all shared a good laugh when it came to the little monster's dousing in the shower. It was a bittersweet moment. We relished the experience, but at the same time quietly mourned the agent provocateur, because it'd been Pilar's "Match Mist" that allowed the cat to go all invisible like that.

Our brunch lasted for at least an hour and then some. A little bit past noon Vincent showed up with a care package in one of those miracle take-out boxes he has for the Cafe. "Here you are, Zoe! A full batch of Jo's favorites-"

"Ah, ah!" Allison interrupted, but Vincent forestalled her.

"All in accordance with the approved foods you've put on her chart, Allison. I checked with Idha this morning." he smiled brightly. I don't think that man ever got tired of cooking. It would be easy to cast any number of criticisms at him, but Vincent was one of the single most caring human beings I've ever met. Strong as an ox, break your back in a hug, kind-of guy, but there was never a doubt that he cared.

"Thanks, Vince!" Zoe enthused and jumped up to give him a big hug. The big lug blushed furiously and I swear he fluttered.

"Oh, just tell her I miss her and want her on her feet! And to get better before I have to come up there!" He beamed at all of us and turned, retreating to the kitchens.

Everyone was standing up and getting moving, so I took advantage of the moment to lean over and steal a kiss from Alli. She was surprised for all of half a second then started returning the kiss. I realized we might want to tone it down a second after I heard a joint outraged furor from Kevin and Zoe in near unison hollering "Mom!" and "Dad!"

"Gross!" Kevin hollered, "Get a room!" Zoe teased. Jenna hooted and giggled at all the noise. I didn't much care, but Alli and I wound up mostly laughing with our faces together.

"I've got to get going" she murmured.

"Yeah..." I drawled. We separated a bit and made to get up.

"Actually" Zoe said as we were all standing, "I was thinking of taking Kevin and Jenna up to Global for my visit to Jo, if you don't mind, Allison."

Alli blinked her surprise. "Um, yes, I suppose that would be fine" she said, her tone uncertain.

Kevin laughed and grabbed up Jenna with a "Come on, baby sis!" while Zoe picked up the kid supplies.

"Awesome" said Zoe, winking at me as she started heading for the door. "I need to talk to Kevin alone, anyhow!"

I know I turned beat red. Allison blushed too. We looked around, realizing jointly we were pretty much the objects of attention, so I went with it, took her by the arm and strolled on out, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

Alli fell in step with me as we went toward her car. Being Sheriff means I get the designated parking spot across the street where my office is, but there's no reserved spots for the Director of Medical Research, so she was parked down the street. Saturday is usually quite busy for the Cafe, and today had been no exception.

"And just what was that about" she said, accusatory smile in her voice.

"I can make a few guesses, but..."

"Uh huh, sure, Jack." she teased.

"No, really!" I protested, "I didn't arrange that, I swear." We'd reached her car.

"But I will take advantage of it!" I said, turning her around to fold into an embrace and a deep kiss. I lost track of time for a few seconds. God in heaven she kisses good enough to make you believe!

"You know," she said when we came up for air, "We have been a little kissey kissey in public lately." She punctuated it with a quick kiss, "Not that I'm complaining!"

"Me either" I agreed.

"I missed you last night" she whispered.

"I'll make up for it tonight, I promise." Oh hell yes would I ever.

"You will if you know what's good for you." She practically sizzled at me, if that's a verb I can use... wow.

"Are you coming up to visit Jo?" she asked, separating from me. Ah, moment over.

"No," I said. "I already saw her this morning. I couldn't sleep, what with everything that's happened."

She nodded, stroking a hand along my cheek, which I captured gently so I could kiss her palm. She smiled and got in the car. "I understand. We'll get through it, Jack. Somehow we will."

She pulled out and proceeded to drive on up to Global. I had more work to take care of.

After this was over, I promised myself, I would go pick out a ring.

* * *

I did as Hernandez asked and drove by the residences of his off-duty guards.

Not everyone in town lives in a happy little bed and breakfast cottage, like you might think. There's a few multifamily dwellings, mostly duplexes and the like. We're a small enough town that there are no true apartment buildings.

You don't get in to Eureka unless you're good at what you do and have something to offer. The lowest rung of that ladder is most easily thought of as the security guys. But while the big brains may tend to think of the security staff as nothing but goons, the truth is another matter entirely. Oh I'm not saying all the guys are geniuses, not by a long shot, but you don't wind up here by playing mall rent-a-cop either.

At Showalter's place I found nothing out of the ordinary at first glance. I knocked, called the house line, waited some and knocked again. His place was one of the duplexes. A simple building painted a god awful pastel blue with hedges that looked like they dropped off an assembly line at the Home Depot. A few trees out back, a shared mailbox out front, and the two halves of the building joined at the garage.

After receiving no answer for all that effort I tried his neighbors. I got an answer fairly shortly. People tend to notice if there's a cop hanging around asking questions, so when a nervous looking young man answered the door almost immediately I wasn't so surprised that it felt like he'd been waiting at the door. He probably had been.

"Um, good morning, Sheriff." said the young guy. He couldn't have been more that 22. Of course, never assume in Eureka that just because someone is fairly young that they aren't supremely smart. See above about being dumb and winding up in Eureka.

"Morning, mister Pace" I greeted. There was a name on the mailbox, so I took a chance. I stuck out my hand as I said his name, smiling genially. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Oh, uh. Well... no?" he said, the statement sounding more like a question than an answer.

I nodded, trying to maintain a happy and friendly demeanor. I was just here to check on a guy that called in sick, I tried to project. "Hey, have you seen your neighbor, mister Showalter, in the last few hours?"

Pace blinked at me a few times, I think somehow shocked that I wasn't asking about him. I was about to repeat myself when he said, "Oh! Uh... Jim, right?" I nodded, rolling my hand in a 'please continue' gesture. "Yeah, um. I saw Jim come home last night sometime... we're both, um, G2s so we see each other kind of, um... frequently?"

Good lord, was everything going to be a question? Wait... both G2s? I filed that away, nodding and gesturing again, hoping to keep up the flow of information. "So last night sometime..." I said.

"Right, yeah. He, uh, came home. He wasn't happy really, kinda grumpy really. Had, lots of groceries, too." Pace was nodding while he was talking, head bobbing up and down in the most distracting way.

He continued, "Yeah, and then I think I heard him leave this morning. That big jacked up pickup truck of his went tearing out of the driveway at around seven or eight. Um, I think."

Finally! "Great, last thing. Can you describe the car to me?" I asked while scribbling in my note book. Henry would have laughed his rear end off, but my notebook works better than one of those damned PDAs for stuff like this anyhow!

"Sure, yeah. Um, big sorta orange thing, it's and older one, I don't know the name. It's his baby though, big off roading tires and a roll bar... looks like an old Ford maybe?"

I'd have to check that out. "Thanks, mister Pace. If you happen to see him could you tell him I was asking about him?"

The nervous man nodded overmuch and quickly closed his door as I left. It's not my job to be a big brother watchdog over the town but this kid was almost freaking me out with how nervous he was. That tended to indicate there was something else going on... I wondered at it for a while, but so long as no one was getting hurt it was none of my business.

I took one last look around Showalter's place, then got in my cruiser and went to run down the other addresses.

At Louis Munroe's place I found much the same thing. The place empty, no car, everything locked up. This time I didn't find any helpful neighbors, but there were fresh tire marks indicating burned rubber, and it was pretty new.

Alex Kruz, another one of Hernandez's missing guys, apparently never made it home the night before. I don't know where he'd got to, but this chain of sick calls was starting to worry me. I put in a few calls to Hernandez, asking about records.

I was walking up to Oliver Jessup's place when he returned my call.

"Hi Sheriff, I pulled their personnel files." he said by way of preamble.

"Good thing, Jerry. Give me your impressions?" I asked. I was looking over the house. A bit more run down than your average place in Eureka. Judging by the neighbors' garbage cans out on the roadside, tomorrow must be garbage day. Even though we're both blessed and cursed by some of the more unusual things, even the mundane can strike in Eureka, and in this case that would be the neighborhood dogs that had decided to take apart Jessup's trash cans.

Hernandez made noises while he went through the paperwork."Well, Sheriff, not to much is jumping out at me here. They've all worked together in the past, part of the same response team. Let's see here, yeah, each has average performance, by our standards anyhow."

One of my pet peeves is the habit of a person saying "huh" every time someone read something that causes their brain to flutter a little bit. You can guess why I'm bringing that up. At this point I noticed a few receipts in with the garbage. Out of curiosity I picked them up and started looking at dates.

"Oh, here's something interesting, Sheriff." Hernandez commented. Okay, the receipts were all for last night and night before, totaling $350 and change for food. Hernandez had fallen silent. I hate that almost as much as "huh".

"Yeah, Hernandez, what's interesting?" I prompted, a little testily. The food stuffs were all junk, high calories, lots of carbs.

"Oh, sorry, Sheriff. Looks like all four have the same G2 grade. I wonder if they all decided to go fishing?"

As he said it I felt my stomach drop. All the same grade, all the same habits, Showalter and Jessup both having bought large quantities of food in the last day and a half.

Fuck.

"Hey Hernandez, you got a file for employee vehicles? I want to know what cars these guys have so I can be on the lookout." I said, trying to keep the stress out of my voice.

"Oh yeah, give me a second." I could hear him tapping on keys at his workstation. "Okay, got it." he said after a second and started rattling off makes and models, with license plates. I collected them in my notebook, until it got to Showalter's rig. An orange and white International Harvester Scout II with a removable top and roll bars, jacked for off roading.

I had seen that truck! I know I had, not less than an hour ago... where though? I noticed it because that's the same kind of truck my Dad drove back in the late 70s. He loved that thing, and so did I when he handed it down to me.

"Thanks, Hernandez" I muttered distractedly, and closed the line. A nameless fear was crawling up inside me, trying to find a place. A gibbering little thing that was gnawing at me. I remembered. I'd seen the truck heading down the street after Alli had pulled out to head up to Global.

I rapidly keyed in Alli's phone. I rang through to voice mail. By the second ring I was racing to my cruiser. I keyed her again...

_Ring... ring... ring... ring... _"You've reached Doctor Blake's phone, I'm-" I hung up.

Again!

_Ring... ring... ring... ring... _"You've reached Doctor Blake's phone, I'm-"

Fuck!

By now I was racing through the residential areas of town heading for the road up to G.D., my sirens wailing.

I hit the hands free and dialed Zoe. She picked it up on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Zoe! Zoe, is Alli there?" I asked desperately.

"No, Dad, I thought you two probably went all kissy face and-"

"She never showed?" I asked, my voice rising half an octave, I'm sure.

"Dad, is something wrong?" Real fear was in her voice.

"No time, Zo, sorry. Maybe. Get a hold of Lieutenant Hernandez in building security, tell him to call me ASAP!"

"Dad! You're scaring me!" she said back.

"I'm sorry, Zoe. Move, please!" I hung up on her. I pleaded with myself, with God, with anyone who would listen to please let me be wrong. Let my fears be unjustified. I knew I wasn't. I knew they weren't.

I hammered the radio. "Andy! Come in!"

His ever chipper voice came back "I'm here, Sheriff Carter, what can-"

I hit the override and shouted into the handset "Emergency! Get out to Lombard and head up toward G.D.! There may be an accident on the way! It may be Doctor Blake!"

Oh God, no. Please, no.

The next ten minutes were some of the most harrowing of my life. I know I didn't hit anyone, but I'm fairly confident I caused at least one accident in town. I came racing through the curves heading out of town. Lombard Avenue is marked as a logging road, but it's fairly obvious to anyone who travels it that it's not. The road is too well paved, the signage too good.

Hernandez buzzed me, "Sheriff? What the hell's going on? Your daughter's about-"

"Hernandez!" I shouted, interrupting him. "Quiet, man! Has Allison Blake punched in to the building in the last two hours?"

His voice rich with indignant self importance, he protested, "What? What kind of-"

"Answer the fucking question!" I roared. Useless fucking twit!

"I- No. No she hasn't, Sheriff. What's going on?"

I issued commands and the sitrep sharp and hard. "Possible kidnapping in progress, get a response team assembled ASAP. Your four missing guys are a hit team."

"What? Are you drinking your lunch? What the hell is-" I killed the connection and ignored the two return calls.

Thirty seconds later I rounded one of the bends in the road and locked up the brakes by reflex. Allison's Lincoln was half in the ditch, facing the wrong way. The Scout II was tucked in next to it. It had pulled a PIT maneuver. In the road was a mid-size van, parked cock-eyed, side door open facing the wreck. Two men were just reacting to my car coming around the corner, both dressed in hunting gear minus the orange vests, both with those really scary G.D. mini assault rifles.

Everything went into slow motion. Adrenaline. Fight or flight. A third man in the same gear, his face drawn and pallid, swung out from behind the van as I started to turn the wheel on the skidding Cherokee. The car spun, putting more of it's mass between me and those guns. I was shooting wide of the van.

I didn't shoot wide of man number three. It wasn't intentional, it just happened so fast. There was this horrible crunching noise, the rear window shattered, and out of the corner of my eye I saw ragged black shape go flying up the road. As the car swerved to a stop, those machine guns opened up. Chunks and thumps and screaming metal filled my entire consciousness, something stung my left arm in the triceps, then it mercifully when numb. I didn't even have a vest...

I realized they were moving toward the driver's door, getting a better angle. I dove for the passenger side, wrenched it open, and launched myself out onto the pavement. The machine guns opened up again. I rolled forward and to my right, edging toward the van, refusing to look to closely at the the tangled red ruin of... someone... crumpled further up the road. Blood and offal were splattered on the right rear fender and bumper of the car.

I clumsily scrambled up out of the roll and sprinted hard for the relative cover of the van, thinking to put myself as far from the Jeep as possible. The same reflexes that I bemoaned for pulling the trigger four days ago were active once more, and my Sig was out of the hip holster before I'd consciously done it.

I heard voices hollering by the truck, feet moving.

"Carter!" yelled one of the men. It sounded strangled, like Hanson had sounded.

Baxter!

"Carter! Are ya dead?" the voice laughed. The foot steps were heading around the Jeep. I stay crouched where I was, using the van's left rear wheel well for cover. I put myself down low and saw the combat-booted feet of the two men. I sighted down the Sig, lined up the LumiDot sights, and squeezed off two measured shots.

One hit. The leading goon's left ankle snapped, an explosion of gore fanning the pavement red as my hollow point round smashed through his lower leg. The man screamed a high pitched shriek of agony.

When in a cat and mouse shoot out like this, you never stay in the same place you just fired from, unless you're absolutely sure of your cover. I had shit for cover. I moved, bolting for the front of the van. As I did, I noticed that the third man's assault rifle was lying on the roadside. I snatched it up as I moved, absently noting that the scope was utterly destroyed.

When I started this job, Jo had tried to humiliate me with this unnecessary test about weapon knowledge and all the weapons in the G.D. and hence Sheriff's arsenal. I praised her right then and there, vowed to buy her yet another beer. By instinct, and on the move, I stripped the now useless scope from the gun while jamming my Sig back in its holster.

I came around the front of the van, using its bulk for cover, the assault rifle now in a two-handed grip, it leading the way. About ten feet away from me I could see one of the four missing men. He noticed me late, starting to turn my way as I drew a bead on his head. Jim Showalter.

"Freeze, Showalter! Don't-"

He didn't even stop, just continued the turn, trying to bring the rifle down on me. I had learned my lesson with Graves.

While looking him dead in the eyes, I pulled the trigger.

The rifle barked in a heavy, fast three-round burst, slamming back into my shoulder. Unlike my Sig... and earlier... the steel jacketed rounds of the rifle pretty much pulverized everything in their path.

I will forever be sorry to Jim's family for my part in his death, but I lay the blame mostly on Tom Baxter's feet.

"Allison!" I yelled. Hoping she could hear me, maybe I could get to her, wherever she was. "Allison!" I yelled again, desperate.

The caterwauling yell had cut away, I could hear grunts of pain with a shuffle step. The two by the jeep were flanking me. I'd been lucky so far, but odds were they knew exactly where I was, and I didn't have a whole lot of options.

"Too late, Carter. I got your little bitch! You took my toy away so I got another one." I vaguely recognized that as Oliver Jessup. I didn't know the man well, but I had spoken once or twice with him before.

"I would have figured these apes would be better at this, better than a small town sheriff, but aren't you full of surprises?" Jessup/Baxter growled.

I glanced under the van, but both guys were using my trick. They were hiding their feet from me, no way to pull it off again. From the blood trail it looked like Baxter was using his control to make Jessup ignore the pain and walk on the ruined leg. That was just sick.

I heard another siren approaching. A voice was squawking on the radio in my jeep, and I vaguely recognized Andy.

"Should have had this ready last time!" the other voice grumbled. I heard him shifting hand holds on something, and then a hollow tube-like "thoomp-click" noise. Most people, me included, only recognize that sound from movies. I'm sure Jo had heard it in real life. I realized too late that one of the two had some heavier stuff to bring to bear.

I really couldn't do anything but look on in horror as the second Sheriff's car, Jo's once vaunted Subaru WRX, came screaming around the corner and hear that weapon make it's characteristic "Thoowump" as mystery man #1 fired a grenade launcher.

Give Andy credit for reaction time. He tried to evade it, he actually almost did it, I think. But the round exploded somewhere near the back quarter of the car in a blinding flash of light and a loud explosion that set my ears to ringing. A piece of shrapnel missed my head by an inch or less, I know because it lodged into the van with a screeching crunch. The shock wave of the explosion rattled my skull, stunning me.

There is a world of difference between the regular shock of a pistol, hell even a full caliber assault rifle, and a grenade launcher. The concussion is huge. Consider the range we were at when it touched off I

I couldn't really hear the WRX flip and wreck, but I felt the crunching in the soles of my feet.

No one moved as the remains of the vehicle came to rest next to my Swiss cheesed Jeep. I think we were all stunned by the implicit violence of the act.

I became aware of a mad cackling, but was too stunned to do much more than blink, trying to re-organize my thoughts. I just couldn't pull it together! I was standing partially in the open as Louis Munroe, being worn like a suit by Baxter, sauntered around the corner of the van, holding the assault rifle on me. He had this happy grin on his face, teeth bared in a rictus.

I'm only alive because he felt the need to gloat, and because of Andy. Since I was shell shocked and staring, I was the only one who really noticed when the roof of the WRX sheared away and a humanoid form, covered in shredded plastic and cloth, pull its way out of the vehicle and advance at a rapid clip toward Munroe's back. Baxter must have noticed my numb shock, because he or Munroe turned to look at what I was looking at, noticing the still functioning Andy heading his way.

He brought up the machine gun and held down the trigger. Bits and pieces flew off the deputy, and he picked up speed and started evading. I lost track of where he was as he juked left and right, throwing off Munroe/Baxter's aim.

I most certainly wasn't expecting what happened next, and I guarantee you neither was Baxter. Andy reached out, grabbed Munroe's gun arm... and tore it off.

I blinked in renewed shock. Munroe didn't have time to scream. The follow up move was a balanced and planted fist blow that ended with the deputy's hand inside Munroe's head. He twisted, needlessly widening the wound cavity, and yanked his hand out.

What the fuck? This was Andy? I could swear he had hard coding to avoid taking a life! Didn't he?

Jessup came around the other side of the van, heading toward Andy, gun raised, but the deputy moved faster than the wounded man and pretty much just reached out, smashing into the man's chest with a knife hand strike, and then crushing his fist down where the man's heart should be.

I stared in dumb shock as the robot deputy- hell with that- the freaking _Terminator _dropped Jessup's body and turned toward me. The left side of his face was sheared off, the hyper-real skin material hanging in shreds and the eye mechanism smashed to pieces. He was liberally covered in gore, and aside from charred remains of the uniform, largely naked. The left arm looked to be less than useful, a large chunk of shrapnel was lancing through the elbow assembly.

He stopped in front of me, a rather blank expression on his face started talking without his jaw moving. I could see why, part of the shearing had nailed the assembly that kept the jaw moving correctly.

"Are you, okay, Sheriff Carter?" he asked. His voice somewhat off pitch. It was almost completely lacking his usual Barney Fife mannerisms and very perfunctory and business like.

I blinked, and suddenly remembered Baxter's commentary.

Allison!

I forgot all about Andy and scrambled forward to look inside the van! I found her, lying unconscious on the floor of the vehicle. There was a hell of a shiner forming on the right side of her face, and I absently noted, of all things, what looked like a broken tooth lodged in between one of the knuckles on her right hand. I had a moment's insane pride that she'd made a fight of it, but it washed away almost as rapidly as it overcame me.

While I was feeling for a pulse, desperately crooning words like "Alli, honey, please...", Andy stood behind me and looked her over. "She appears to be alive, Sheriff. I do not believe her injuries are life threatening."

Oh thank you, God...

Then I noticed it, discarded on the floor of the van next to her. A hypodermic spray gun, one of the newer ones with multiple cartridges of whatever medicine one wanted. The active cartridge was expended, and there was a red welt on her neck...

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** I was so eager to post I forgot to put these notes and my disclaimer. Oops._

_My friend and fellow fanfic author Pinkpixiechick (If you're into Twilight check her out) called this the whump episode. I've hit the crew with a ton of things that will be explained later, so bear with me please. This is the kickoff for the climax. Jack get a little bit more time to try and figure things out and then the train goes off the rails._

_I am going to try and keep this on a one chapter per day ratio, but that's around 4000 words a day so far. I will try. I'm putting the finishing touches on chapter 14 as I write this.  
_

_I have learned a lot about my own writing both in the act of writing all of this and from the review and feedback I get from you folks, especially my frequent reviewers. Thank you all who've stuck it out thus far. Please leave me a review. Any and all criticism is welcome._


	14. Chapter 14

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 14

I drove like a madman the rest of the way to G.D. The Jeep was a total loss, the WRX a burning hulk. In the explosion a chunk of the WRX had crunched part of the van, and the Lincoln's home in the roadside ditch would be permanent without a tow truck. That left Showalter's old rig, the Scout. They don't make these anymore, I think the company stopped doing trucks by the eighties.

After Andy did what he could of a forensic analysis of Allison's condition and confirmed that I could move her, I picked her up and carried her over to the truck while Andy used his remaining functional arm and his innate strength to push the vehicle to a position more on the road. This one had the original-style bench seat with only lap belts. Showalter hadn't even set up the 3-point harness off the roll bars, so I wound up in the driver's spot with us both buckled in, but her lying partially across the bench. Her skin looked pale.

"You'd better hurry, Sheriff." the robot said, again his tone oddly inflected. It was like the Mayberry personality wasn't there anymore. This tone was efficient, without a tremendous amount of emotion. I flashed back to how handily he'd taken out Jessup and Munroe and shuddered just a little. What the hell.

I nodded at him, said, "Thanks, Andy. Clear me a way?" I gestured forward toward the blocked road. "And call Hernandez, tell him I'm coming in and not stopping at the checkpoint!"

He walked over and heaved the jeep out of the way, leaving me an avenue while I started up the old truck to a wholly surprising roar of whatever monster add on parts the off-roader had put under the hood. I put that thing through it's paces! A few times I almost lost control, but rapidly got back into the frame of mind required for one of those old beasts.

True to my call, I didn't stop at the security checkpoint, apparently Andy was fairly persuasive. The guys at the entry point, though, had some pretty heavy artillery pointed down the road as I came up.

I suddenly noted a shape keeping pace on my left and flinched, almost taking the old truck into the ditch at a really unsafe speed. Then I realized it was one of the Martha drones keeping pace. I saw a flicker of greenish laser light grid over the truck, me, and Allison, then the drone picked up speed and went in front of us like some little torpedo.

That must have been some sort of signal, because the two guardsmen were putting away the big guns.

Martha (or one of her sisters, I always had difficulties telling them apart) did a wing waggle in front of me and veered to the right, heading down the road to the parking garage. Since she was flying vanguard I decided not to question and peeled off for the side road. I wound up leaving rubber on the road as I braked for the entrance of the facility. Again the little drone sped through the checkpoint and there was no hindrance to my progress. The guy at the booth giving me this big looping "keep it coming" arm gesture.

I stopped the truck by the main elevator, finding a small security detail and one of Allison's medical alert teams standing by it with a gurney, and felt momentary relief.

They came rushing forward, taking her from me as I unstrapped her from the car and lifted her out. She was starting to come to, mumbling, "Jack? What's… what's going on?"

"Hang on, Alli! Just lie still." I stayed with the jammed gurney as much as I could and we made our way inside toward G.D. Medical.

* * *

"Sheriff Carter?" asked a rich, female voice. The accent was vaguely English. I snapped my head up quickly, realizing I'd been completely zoned out with worry raging through my head. I'd been cradling a tiny, tiny little spark of hope in my head, desperate with the need for it's well being, but bitterly questioning it's existence.

He'd taunted me about her. He'd had his puppets inject her with the nanites… I'd been trying to tell myself that it would be okay. It had to be okay.

Kevin, Zoe, and Jenna were with me. Jenna was sleeping in her carryall, blissfully ignorant of the true depth of our concern, though she had been affected by our collective panic, but the other two were almost at the same level of basket case that I was.

Doctor Idha Malavi stood near the entrance to the waiting area, dressed in the surgical blues with the white coat that the medical staff favors here. She's a little older than Allison, of definite Indian descent, but I knew she was from England by way of immigration.

She had a clipboard in one hand and a concerned look on her face. Actually she looked somewhat like she wanted to be sick.

My heart sank.

The spark died, a quiet little death totally out of proportion for how empty I suddenly felt.

Kevin, sitting in the chair next to me, looking about as bloodless as he could, jumped up, shouting, "Is she all right?"

Zoe was gripping my arm. She'd been sitting next to me on the same crouch, head buried in my shoulder. We'd been there for at least an hour, waiting and waiting and waiting for them to tell us something. Anything.

As she looked at the doctor, her grasp on my arm tightened painfully and she buried her head in my shoulder.

"No." I said. "No, she can't be…"

Doctor Malavi looked at me in confusion for a second, then realized what I was saying and flinched, moving forward. "No!" she said, "No, Sheriff, not that!"

The tiny little spark of hope rekindled!

In a second she was up to me, helping me stand, but Kevin was in her face, desperately shouting, "Is she all right?"

I reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but he jerked away, pulling free. He was about ready to shout something more, but Zoe intercepted him and stopped him with a hug. He broke down, sobbing his anger and confusion into her shoulder. Zoe wasn't doing much better.

I turned to Doctor Malavi. "What's going going on, Idha?" She was one of Allison's second string doctors, a top notch researcher and a specialist in neurobiology, a key counsel on Pilar's autopsy as well as those of Graves and Hanson. Of course, being a doctor in Eureka, she was also a fully qualified general practitioner.

Again, the sick-at-the-gills look. "First, Allison's physically well!"

The spark blossomed into an ember, but I could tell from the look on her face that she had more to say. "Second?" I asked.

She took a bracing breath and said, "Second… Second those constructs we found in Pilar Graham are present in her system, working overtime, and we can't figure out how to stop them."

I blinked. Refusing to believe. Kevin looked up, confusion all over his face. "Constructs?" he asked.

Idha blinked at that, then realized that they didn't know. As part of the case I wasn't in the habit of just spilling technical detail to any passer by, and talking about 'brain wires' wasn't good dinner manners.

"What do you mean by constructs?" he asked again. Seeing her confusion, he turned to me, stepping away from Zoe a little. "What does she mean, Jack."

I nodded, it was personal now, not just a case. "When I shot and killed Pilar Graham," I stated quietly, "she was under the influence of a thing that someone was using to control her mind. I didn't know it at the time."

I sighed. That hurt to say, that really hurt. Kevin and Zoe both looked at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Kev, your Mom's been infected with the same things…"

"What?" he asked, his voice hollow. The look of horror that overcame him nearly broke me.

I turned back to Doctor Malavi. "So what does this mean, can she be influenced? Is she safe?" I asked in a heated whisper.

Doctor Malavi shook her head. She said, "We just don't know enough, Sheriff-"

"Jack, please." I inserted. She nodded.

"Jack, sorry. We've only been able to study dormant models until now-"

"You mean dead people!" exclaimed Kevin. He was clenching his fists.

I put my hand on his shoulder, this time he didn't shrug it off. "Kevin," I said, "We'll fix this. She'll be okay."

"How?" he snapped at me. "How, Jack? How are you going to fix it?" he shouted.

"I don't know, Kev, but you've got to have faith. We'll fix it!" I hoped my reassurances worked a little, but he didn't seem very much encouraged. He shrugged off my hand and stormed across the room to stare out the faux windows.

"Like I said," Doctor Malavi continued, "We don't know enough. The carrier wave that works on the dormant drones doesn't seem to affect active ones, and I'm afraid to risk anything that might cause them assemblers to go a different direction! We're talking about uncontrolled nanofactories operating inside her brain!"

I nodded. What to do?

"Can we see her, yet?" I asked.

Doctor Malavi shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't allow you all back yet. We have her isolated in a clean room."

I nodded, but persisted. "Surely there's at least a window… let Kevin go see his Mom, at least see her."

She sighed, and weighed it, then nodded. "We have an observation area, but you can't leave it!" she said, locking eyes with Kevin as he turned to ask a question or make a demand. "I will not risk her safety by introducing unknowns into the room!"

She escorted us back past the primary patient ward to a series of rooms that doubled as labs and treatment rooms. While not your average hospital by a long shot, the hallways of the medical department in Global have that feel. They're wide and clean, antiseptic smell overrides everything, but there are very rarely more than a dozen patients at any one time, so unlike any hospital you might go to in the outside world, it's usually pretty empty. That adds an air of slight menace to it that I've never quite defined fully.

Doctor Malavi led us to an observation area that looked in on the lab room via a series of large plate glass windows. A pair of lab techs were attending equipment, and three more of G.D.'s top medical staff were working in the room. I didn't recall their names immediately.

Allison lay in a bed in the center of the room, clothed in a medical gown. Her right hand was bandaged up, as well as the side of her head, where they were holding on an ice pack to help with the swelling caused by the facial contusion. Her skin, normally a rich cappuccino brown, looked pale, and her features were drawn. Her lips were parted, slack, though she was clenching her jaw. I wanted to run in there… I wanted her to be up and smiling, looking at me with that exasperated quirk of her eyebrow because I was being deliberately goofy.

I wanted her to just laugh.

Kevin just stared for a second, then said "Mom!" and went for the door. I had half-way expected that, so I was ready to grab him as he went by, snapping "Kevin! No!"

"Let go of me, Jack! Let go!" he yelled. I had him in a loose grab, my hand gripping one arm, but he was squirming frantically, "I said let me go!" he shouted, taking a swing at me. I hunched my shoulders and let the blow glance off.

"Kevin! Stop!" Zoe shouted almost in his face.

He jerked away from her shout, then slackened in my grasp, starting to cry again. He didn't resist when I pulled him into a hug.

"I promise you, Kev. I _promise_ I will make this better!" I whispered to him. I glanced at Zoe, signaling my thanks with silent eye contact. She nodded and looked away, hugging herself. As if unsure of what to do, she bent down and picked the sleeping baby up out of her carryall and started murmuring to her.

Kevin slowly regained his composure and finally pulled away. "I hope you kill him!" he exclaimed, low and intense.

What do you say to that? I didn't want to think about it. I'd already killed three people in the last four days! I didn't want even more on my conscience.

"Kevin…" I said, a plaintive note in my voice.

"For her! Jack! Kill the son of a bitch that hurt my Mom!" he hissed. His anger was a raw and dangerous animal. I beckoned Zoe over and the two of us walked a bit away while Kevin turned back to him Mom, hands on the windows, shoulders shaking as he cried.

"Can you watch him for me, Zoe? Him and Jenna?"

"Sure, Dad!" she insisted earnestly.

To the doctor I said, "Keep her sedated, Idha. I'm not sure what can be done, but if she isn't active…"

She nodded. "Also get Henry Deacon down here, he's been studying some of the lab where these things were developed, maybe he can help."

"Good idea, Sher- Jack." Malavi answered. She nodded to us and went to see to her patient.

What the hell was I going to do now?

* * *

My own injuries had turned out to be fairly minor, all things considered. The bullet that had hit me had spalled across my right arm, injuring the triceps and doing some general trauma, but it had mosly been a graze. It hurt like hell, but it was just one more pain in a litany of hurts. Allison's condition hurt me far worse, deeper than any phyisical pain.

I was in the general patient area with Jo, discussing the situation after having given her the sad news about the four men, when Hernandez stormed in with two more guards at his back.

"So, I'm waiting on him to pull something together." I was just finishing describing my talk with Zane. Zoe had been here with Kevin when everything had still been roses and sunshine, or as much as it could have been.

Jo nodded, having mastered her fear over the situation. "How did he take it? Overall, I mean."

I smiled, wanly I suppose, I didn't much feel like it but I mustered my best for her. "Okay, I guess. He's conflicted about a lot, Jo. You hit him with a whammy with that ring, and since then as close as you two have got… It might be hard, but he's going to need some understanding. He realizes that things aren't what he thought they were, and it's rocked him a bit. Well, more than a bit."

I was cheered, a little, by this. I knew Donovan was a bit of a scoundrel, but he'd always been the inherently decent sort, and it was proving true here as well.

Just then I saw Jo's eyes widen, her posture stiffening with a little pain as she sat up. Heavy boot-steps were coming my way, more than one man. I turned to see what the hell was going on, and took in Jerry Hernandez, as pissed as you can imagine a guy to look, storming right for me.

"Carter! You trigger happy mother fucker! You're under arrest!" he shouted as he closed. The two guys behind him looked like they were ready for a fight too, and none to thrilled to see me.

"What the hell?" I shouted back, stepping away from Jo's bedside and putting some empty space at my back. He continued closing.

"I just saw the scene you and that murdering robot left behind! You killed four of my men! One with your goddamn truck you-" At this point he'd rached me and grabbed my shirt collar. Not the most effecting grab, but he was acting on emotion rather than intellect, then again I was a little bit too.

My own anger flared up and I slapped his hand away, snapping, "Hands off!"

A commotion erupted at the door and I noted the R.N. entering the room yelling "Hey, take this outside!"

Hernandez and I both ignored him. Jerry tried again, another clumsy grab, this time two handed.

I reacted without thinking, snarling in anger, snapping into a nasty Krav Maga maneuver Jo had drilled into me on a number of occasions (those "Lets Throw Carter Around the Dojo" days.) I moved in, forced his arms out and brought my knee up into his crotch, reinforcing the blow with a hip twist, then stomping my foot back down to reinforce my balance. As he crumbled slightly to the side my right arm snapped out in two lightning fast, short, vicious hammer blows to the side of his head.

I blinked in shock, suddenly aware of what I'd just done. I was stepping away, still partially in the moment. Both of the guards were going for their tasers.

"Enough!" bellowed the Enforcer. It was a full bodied parade ground bellow, almost as loud as a gunshot. Everybody, and I mean everybody, froze. In the silence it was impossible to miss Hernandez emptying his stomach on the floor. I winced.

Jo continued snapping orders, "Wilson! See to Hernandez! Mendoza! Stand down or so help me God I will kick your balls up into your throat!" She hadn't moved from the bed, but I think all three of us believed every word of that threat.

Mendoza took his hand off his weapon while Wilson did as instructed. I'd done well, I suppose. Hernandez was severely disoriented, though not unconscious. Of course getting the boys racked like that was enough to take the fight out of any man.

She started to rise from the bed, but I walked over and put a hand on her shoulder to force her back down. Well, that's what I planned on doing. She caught my hand in one of those really painful finger locks and twisted, almost taking me to my knees. "Point made, Jo," I grunted. She let go.

She grimaced in what must have been a considerable amount of pain as she twisted to get out of the bed. I watched as she willed herself to the edge of the bed, finally getting enough leverage to lean forward, and then everything gave out and she started to collapse.

I'd been waiting for that. I moved in and caught her, gently as I could, then helped her back into the bed. Behind me Wilson had picked up Hernandez and set him down in a nearby chair. The orderly was right on top of me by the time I even had her a quarter of the way back in to the bed, helping her lie down appropriately. I hoped she hadn't ruptured anything….

When I stood back up she was trying not to cry, a mixture of pain and anger written large across her features. "I hate this." she whispered. "I hate being weak. Weak gets you left behind, makes you lose…" She stopped, refusing to look at me. I could almost hear her shouting at herself, abusing and berating herself for this.

"Jo," I said urgently, "Ease up, soldier. We'll get this." I'd be damned if I knew how, but it was my turn to stop her from destroying herself, same as she'd done for me a few nights ago. She turned her head away from me so I couldn't see her tears anymore.

She mastered herself a short while later. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she turned her head back to look at her team in the room. Bed ridden she may be, but after the momentary weakness the Chief was back. You could see it in the set of her jaw, the arch of her eyebrows. I felt real pride for her then.

Jerry Hernandez was leaning back in his chair, holding an ice bag over his crotch that the orderly, who was busy mopping up puke, had delivered. That paints the wrong picture. I should say the orderly was running the remote cleaning bot to clean up the puke, and the bag wasn't ice, but a specially formulated instant freeze gel pad.

I felt a moment's sympathy for the man, and hoped, mostly, that I hadn't permanently injured him, but he was pissing me off something fierce with that arresting me crap.

"Hernandez," said Jo, iron in her voice. He flinched and looked at her, somewhat sitting to attention.

"Chief?" he asked, sparing me a brief, hateful glare.

"Sheriff Carter is free to go." She said it with such certitude that there was no questioning it, but he tried.

"Ma'am! He killed four men! For the love of-"

"Enough!" she interrupted, actually lowering her voice. That's a danger signal with Jo. When she gets quiet someone's going to get hurt. "Munroe and the others _tried to kidnap Doctor Blake_! Do you honestly think they were doing their duty? For fuck's sake, man! There was a _grenade launcher_ in their possession!"

She looked at me, disgusted. "And of course they had to shoot MY car… Why couldn't they shoot yours?"

"Ma'am?" asked Hernandez confused.

I winked at her and said quietly, "About damn time too."

She snorted, turning back to Hernandez, her tone softer, and said, "I hear you're doing an okay job, Jerry. Trust me, and yourself, Jack Carter wouldn't have murdered them, it's not in him."

Operating under his superior officer's directive, Acting Chief Hernandez revoked my arrest warrant and let me out of the building. He didn't do it happily, or graciously, but he did it. Right then it's all that mattered.

I couldn't bring myself to go back to the room with Kevin and Zoe and Jenna and be forced to stare at her lying there. I just couldn't do it. I had to go do something. Anything.

* * *

You can ask me some other time, like maybe never, how I wound up in the sanctuary of the First Church of Eureka.

I may call on God from time to time, but I'll take his name just as easily. I'm not a worshiping man, not for a long, long time. When I was a kid, my mom was a devout Baptist. My dad was a devout Dodgers fan. I went to Sunday School as a kid, attended church with Mom, even got baptized. I played at believing, but after how that whole thing ended, and what I chose to do with my life, me and the big man upstairs never really saw eye to eye so much.

I guess, though, that when the woman you love is hurt and in danger, and you can't do a single fucking thing about it, you get desperate.

I wasn't even really conscious that Reverend Harper was talking to me as I sat in the back pew. I had been crying. I don't like doing that any more than Jo does, but I couldn't stop it.

Reverend Harper is a good woman. A true gem. She's one of those people that will make you believe not because she's browbeating you into following her dogma, but because she walks her talk with a commitment I have not often seen. She even writes engaging sermons that will make you think, a definite must for this town.

She is almost surprisingly dark skinned. I'd asked once where she was from originally, turned out she emigrated to Canada from Trinidad with her folks when she was a little girl. She'd gone on to become a physicist, but found her calling in the ministry.

"Sheriff Carter." she said, quiet and sympathetic, reaching out to take one of my hands in a gesture of friendship and camaraderie as she sat facing me in the pew in front of me. I let her.

I nodded up at the altar. It being a universalist church, there were no icons there, save a cross hanging in the stained glass window. "I hate him, right now." I said.

She flinched, but smiled at me, encouraging me to continue. "Why?" she asked.

"Because Allison might die. Because he is allowing it to happen. Because I love her, and it's not fair! I'm so angry, I can't see straight!" My voice was getting harder, firmer. The emotions were overwhelming me.

She squeezed my hand again, smiling sadly. "Sheriff… Jack. I'm sorry. I heard there was something going on up Lombard Ave, but not exactly what. What's going on?"

I tried to explain it to her, as much as I could, but it came out a jumbled mess. She gasped in real emotional pain when I explained very briefly that I'd had to kill men to save her, and that she still might die. It wasn't fair!

I took my hand back and leaned back in the pew, trying not to scream my frustration at the world, at God for this injustice!

"Jack" Reverend Harper said softly, "I understand you, I understand your anger. When those we love are hurt, it's normal to lash out at the perceived agent, but it's not God's fault, any more than it's mine, or yours."

I laughed bitterly. "Oh, Rev, you don't know the half of it. This all ties in to Pilar's death and-" I choked on that. No! I wouldn't give that smug bastard the _satisfaction_ of seeing me break down. Not here! Not now!

Reverend Harper sighed. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I know these aren't the words you want to hear, but maybe you need to. What happened did so because of choices. Yours, hers, everyone else involved. I know you want to blame Him for this, I-"

I stopped her, shaking my head. "I'm sorry, Eve." I said. "I can't, not right now. I don't even know why I came in here…" I stood and blew my nose into a handkerchief, nodded a thanks, and turned to leave.

"Oh, wait! Sheriff!" Reverend Harper called after me as I put my hands on the door to the foyer. She had a bible in her hands as she came up to me.

"Please, Eve, don't force the good book on me! I-"

"Wait, hold up!" she interrupted. "No, not that. I found this in my office several days ago, it's Pilar Graham's."

What?

"There was a note in the front cover, I've still got it in there. But there was a sticky on it that said "For the Sheriff", so I've kept it. I've been meaning to call but since you're here…" she said, trailing off. She handed me the bible.

It was a New International Version book, with the red lettering for what's supposed to be Jesus talking. The book was maybe seven years old, likely a baptism gift or something similar. My hands trembled when I accepted it. No way. This could _not_ be it… I pulled out the note, but stopped reading after I noted the first few lines:

"Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry-" it began. I closed it back in the cover, and flipped through rapidly. Sure enough, true to Henry's prediction several words here and there were blacked out with a redaction pen.

Eve Harper gasped when she notice the vandalism, but I forestalled her.

This was it! The other half of Pilar's secret code! "Oh you brave, deceitful, wonderful, smart girl!" I muttered.

I hurriedly thanks Eve for giving me the book and glanced dubiously at the cross hanging in the window. I left the church, frantically calling Henry, and leaving poor Evelyn Harper more confused than enlightened.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** Another one, within 24 hours! Yes! I got done with first draft at 2:00 AM, barely able to see straight. Ugh. Red Bull and coffee shall permit me to work in the morning!_

_And Pilar's 'bible' turns out to be a literal bible. Looks like Jo and Carter were too focused on a scientist using a log book!_

_This fanfic thing is such a total drug!_

_Yes, the failure to capitalize pronouns in Carter's God talk is intentional. It is meant to reflect Carter's viewpoint. I'm sorry if I offend with his rant, but the man isn't a devout believer and is experiencing a hell of a lot of doubt, remorse, and fear, and he defends against it with anger._

_The information on Reverend Harper is an extrapolation from the biography of Barbara Eve Harris, the actress that played her in episode #2.10. Details and allusions to Carter's parents are speculation on my part. If I got them wrong, someone let me know, but I'm not aware that he actually talks about his parents ever in the show. The only mention of family is in #4.10, when he and Zoe are going to see his brothers._

_Thanks for sticking it out so far, a few more yet remain. Please leave me a review, all comments and concrits welcome._


	15. Chapter 15

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 15

"Well," said Henry Deacon, drawing the word out, "This definitely looks like it!" He looked up from the bible I'd received from Reverend Harper, the one left for me in her office by I could only assume Pilar Graham.

Smiling broadly, Henry scrawled a few notes on his tablet and shunted the display over to one of the large monitors in his lab. "If you look here, here, and here, and cross index with these line codes here, and here, you get the basic chain for carbon-60."

So, remember what I said about the short version? I tried to make sense of it, I really did, but to me everything he was pointing out on the big screen were word jumbles, mixed with alphanumeric strings, and just utterly baffling.

"Henry..." I said, tiredly, pinching the bridge of my nose and rubbing my eyes. No sleep last night, a gun battle mid-day, an explosion, a mad dash to save Allison's life with no resolution that we could tell.

Henry looked back at me from the screen, that particular goofy grin he gets when he's solving a puzzle painted wide on his face. The man is probably the best friend I've ever had, but right then and there the stresses were just too much and I was out of patience. But, he's smart and perceptive too, so he got that right away.

He ducked his head, grinning sheepishly, "Sorry, Jack. Look, I don't have it all right now, but the first couple of things I've deciphered from her code are basic building blocks. She's using the code to lay a groundwork for how her formulas functioned, walking me through the process she went through to make that nanomolecular compound the autopsies reported. At least, I think that's what this is."

I was learning a whole new respect for Pilar, and experiencing a new depth of remorse that I would never be able to compliment her on this latest brilliance. She'd always seemed the hapless ditz, but if Henry was impressed, then I sure as hell was.

I blew out a breath and looked around at several of the other monitors in the room. Henry's lab, well his current lab, was a large room about a hundred paces from G.D. Medical. He'd only had it for the better part of a day and a half, so I was thoroughly impressed with the amount of work that had apparently been done. I couldn't begin to tell you what a fraction of the projects were, but Henry seemed to be handling them all, with Grace's help, of course. She was out at the moment, conferring with Doctor Malavi and the other neurobiologists.

One large screen had a blowup of a functioning nano-assembler. I was rather startled by the appearance. I guess I expected something more mechanical in shape, but I hadn't really formed a cohesive idea. On the screen was a cylindrical dumbbell with several struts running the circumference of the ends, connecting one end to the other and arrayed about a central stock. The stock had an opening in the middle, with a number of tiny nubs suspended between them with no obvious connection.

Tags and fly outs identified it as a "Silver Cycler", but I had no idea who had dubbed it that. I gathered that the microscope was looking at a live one, because the thing was in constant motion. Inside the dumbbells were another series of struts that looked almost like the fans at the front of an average jet engine. As I watched it was steadily chewing apart another cell, greedily consuming parts of it in a frighteningly efficient manner, and ejecting a steady stream of tiny silvery dots from the madly spinning spindles in the middle of the stalk.

Henry said softly from across the room, "If it weren't so horrible, I'd be enthused."

I blinked and looked back at him. "Oh?" I asked.

He ducked his head with a rueful grin. "Yes, I would. Don't you realize what that is?"

I shook my head, struggling not to scream at him, "The fucking things that are killing Alli!", instead saying "Not entirely."

He picked up on some of it. "Jack, I'm sorry. I know it hurts. Trust me, I _know_ how this fear hurts."

I forced myself to unwind. Yelling at Henry or anyone else wasn't going to achieve anything. Stringing up Tom Baxter like a heavy bag might though. Down, Jack...

"So tell me." I said, bleakly.

"Jack, look at it. It's taking about a red blood cell, chewing up the carbon in it, and _changing_ the carbon into pure _molecular silver_! Jack, it's transmutation! It's _magic_!" His voice was brimming with earnestness, with the utter consuming need to understand this to incorporate it. Henry doesn't like magic. To him there isn't any such thing. _Everything_ is explainable. How he manages that with a deep and abiding faith in God, I have no clue.

I started running through that thought process, really chewing it apart. Allison had hinted at something about this two days ago at breakfast. I'd been horrified that these things were literally eating blood to make the wires, but with Henry's insistence and focus on the word magic, I made the connection.

I looked him in the eyes, a bit stunned. "You're talking about that artist fellow, Chris Dactylos! What? You're telling me this is _alchemy_?"

He shook his head emphatically, "No, no. Well not quite. This is a much more impressive idea, but truly look at it like this. Those assemblers take in carbon, chew it apart and disassemble it at the atomic level. Whatever it's programmed to make, one of these machines can make it. You want gold? Feed it some carbon. I mean we can do that already, make lead into gold, but it costs a lot more than gold is worth! Like I said, Jack, magic."

"This should _not_ be possible. I still haven't figured out how they're breaking the atomic bonds without killing everything. It's nuclear transmutation without massive exothermic release, and on top of that no kinetic build-up, which should be utterly impossible! Huh... maybe it's a split system? Endothermic absorption to get the energy, self powering off the exothermic release..."

I held up my hands trying to slow him down. "Henry, please!"

He chuckled just a bit, then thought about it. "Okay. These machines are doing the same thing as an atom bomb, but without the containment or the explosion. Granted in a bomb there are a whole hell of a lot more things going on, but still. These should run super hot, but they don't, and more besides."

I gestured back to the bible and cipher. "Will those help?"

He nodded, only this time his grin was more predatory than amused or amazed. "Oh yes. With what Pilar has to say I should be able to reverse engineer this process. Maybe even shut them down entirely, or totally repurpose them."

I felt a little bit of hope, and with it the hint of a promise of shutting Baxter down. "Good!" I said, clenching a fist.

Henry eyed me speculatively for a bit, until I became self-conscious about it. "What?" I asked.

"I don't know how much Tom Baxter has changed in recent weeks, but when I knew him really well, he was always ruthless. He could get relentlessly obsessed with a project in a way that was amazing and awful to behold. Imagine Nathan without the grace, or charm-" I snorted derisively, but he continued with a smirk, "-or the ability to self-police. Nathan, for all his flaws, was brilliant in a way few men I know have ever been. I suppose the best way you could describe the Tom that I knew well, he was like Nathan without the ability to entertain multiple projects."

I considered that for a bit, then asked "So, you've tangled with him more than once?"

Henry nodded, going back over to the cipher and continuing to work while we talked. "Yes. Over a few projects. Tom was never terribly scrupulous. He and the former director Doctor King got on very well. Not that Warren and I were ever enemies, but I he wanted different things out of science."

I remembered Warren King, myself. The smug twit. Of course, I suppose that without his ambition I never would have met Allison. In the end it was his insistence on pushing the boundaries that pushed Walter Perkins into that cluster fuck that drew me into Eureka in the first place.

"But Tom, on the other hand," Henry continued, "Tom would never let anything get in his way. If he went as far as we think here, I'm nervous about that project, especially with this." He finished by gesturing vaguely at the lab. Then stood up with a mild exclamation of "Oh!"

"Yes?" I prompted.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I forgot to mention something!" He briskly walked over to yet another station and quickly brought up another microscope scan.

The tag on the image in the bottom right corner, amidst a host of other jargon, read "Graves, Lewis". The slide was side-by-side with another one reading "Jessup, Oliver". I couldn't make heads or tails of the grayish black images, except that they were similar to x-ray slides, but much more detailed.

"What am I looking at, Henry?" I asked, a little distractedly. I really was trying to piece together the differences. In the image of each there were, if I goatherd that bit right, cylindrical objects somewhere inside the craniums of both men. "Are these the command centers Allison was talking about?"

"In one." Henry said, smiling at me. Hey, I _do_ pay attention. He started pointing at them and explaining some things, but it got really interesting when he said, "These are a lot more than all of that, though. They're organic computers. Small and resilient, to be sure, fairly simple, but we've cracked both of them. Actually Fargo cracked them. They are the base modules for a rudimentary A.I. copy that uses leftover space in the subject's brain to house data."

"Wait a minute," I said, the idea springing forth as he talked. "Rudimentary, you mean that these little boxes can think?" He nodded in response. "So let me guess, they can transmit complex messages too?"

"Exactly. I wondered how he had all four of those guys working together. Jessup's is the only one we recovered intact from the four. It has coded instructions from a command routine. We've both seen Baxter wear someone... With the core operational the controller can issue a series of commands that reinforces behaviors or outlaws others. It also explains why Pilar Graham was unable to say anything. Certain words and actions must have been forbidden, even when Baxter wasn't... 'Wearing' just sounds so wrong... Riding?"

I accepted that, I'd used that word to describe this before. The implications of this revelation were... it's hard to use words to convey it: chilling, horrifying, devastating; they all fit but not in full measure.

"Give me some good news, Henry. I need it, badly!" I was having visions of this technology and what it could do, and I was scared. Badly scared. I thought about Mansfield getting his hands on it, and wanted to hit something, preferably him. Then my traitor imagination gave me another, worse, idea. Beverly Barlowe and her 'Consortium', as Grant had called them. If _they_ got their hands on this...

General Mansfield was a fucking prick, but an honorable one. A hawk, a lion, lots of those kinds of words describe him. Barlowe? A scorpion. Over the years we'd managed to piece a few things together. She'd been involved with the Perkins and Walter's tachyon sphere of doom, and I personally believed that she had offed Susan Perkins to close off the investigation. I had zilch for proof, but everyone that knew Susan back in the day, seven-year old clone though she may have been, did not believe that suicide had been her choice.

No one ever does believe that, by the way. It's not in our nature to accept that people we know are willing to take that step, until you're confronted by it and have to deal with the aftermath. I should know. But sometimes, as a "lawdog" you get intuition as to whether or not the friends are deluding themselves, or they truly were surprised.

I glanced over at Henry, but I could tell he wasn't thinking in this direction at all. Of all of us, he knew perhaps best what Barlowe was capable of, but like most of the folks here, sometimes the baser human natures take them by surprise. Sciency types always want to believe that when we finally meet aliens they'll be peaceful, because a truly advanced people would have overcome their barbarism. Pragmatists like me know better.

They'll just have bigger guns.

Henry's good news though, was good indeed, though mixed with some bad.

"For starters," he said, "We've managed to rig up an EM damping field similar to what Zane and Fargo were trying to use on the DED, and it's set up around Allison's room right now. That means that if a control signal comes in from the outside, it will never reach her. Hopefully Baxter won't have a fail-safe for no contact, but we're watching out for that."

He closed down the images of the dead mens' heads and returned to the bible code. "Second," he continued "Fargo is trying to figure out a way to hack the processor in Allison's head."

I started at that, I'm sure a look of panic to match the emotion in me must have covered my face, because Henry sharply said "Hold up! Jack, calm down." He was pushing his hands forward as though he could restrain me from across the room. "He's not doing anything directly right now! We're using the old modules to try some invasive routines and seeing what they do, getting a handle on how they'll react inside a live brain if a hack goes wrong. Right now it's a last resort."

By this point I was massaging my temples. How much worse could this get? I just wanted her back and safe.

"Any other bombshells, Henry? I should probably get to kicking over hornets nests and see if I can find Baxter directly." I didn't have a clue, but I was hoping Zane might be done by now, maybe he'd know. Or know soon.

Henry frowned, saying, "One." I nodded, indicating that he should continue. "It looks to me like the nanites in that hypo gun they used on Allison no longer require the subject have Pilar's nanomolecular solution in the system. They've been evolved."

I had to ask. I just _had_ to ask...

I thanked Henry for his help, profoundly grateful, and then left his labs.

I passed Grace on her way back to Henry's lab. She didn't say much, but came directly at me and grabbed me in a big hug. I may not know her as well as I had before the time travel event, but she still knew me. I took solace in the comfort she offered.

Eventually she backed off, her eyes rich with tears. "Hang in there, Jack. We're working on it. We'll get her back."

There wasn't a whole lot I could say to that, aside from a bittersweet smile and a sincere "Thank you, Grace. Just... Thanks."

She gave me another hug, shorter this time, and resumed her walk to her husband's lab.

I paused to visit Allison on my way out. If possible she looked worse. Her skin was acquiring a grayish color to it, and the IV bags were presently being replaced. I had the impression that it was early for that, but then if what Henry said was entirely right those things were using a whole lot of her body's power to do their dirty work.

Kevin was dozing in a chair facing the window into Alli's room, as physically close as they would let him get. A note taped to his chest read "Kev, taking Jenna to the Nanny, will be back with food." It was signed "Zoe"

I decided to let him sleep. I didn't particularly want to face him or the questions he was sure to ask right at the moment.

On the way out the door, my phone beeped at me. A simple short message from Zane. "Got it. Meet you at your place." it said.

Excellent. If he was texting me, perhaps one of the most unsafe ways to talk digitally, then he was confident, and that boded well.

Maybe some ass kicking _was_ in the cards.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **A shorter chapter this time. I'm going to try to stick with the one post per day, and I'm running out of time tonight, so this is a good spot to end it._

_Henry is the man, and I find that if I can jam him full of words that hopefully aren't endless run ons that he'll sound a little more like Joe Morton's performance._

_Regarding the physics. Wikipedia has an article on Nuclear Transmutation. Of course one must always be careful with information from there, but it conveys a good bit of detail about the subject. I am definitely playing with the science fiction in dis-assembly and reassembly of atomic structures without killing the host._

_If you do a Google image search for "__nanite4final 1__" there's a decent example of what Carter is describing. It is an artist's representation of a "nanite", and works pretty good._

_Warren King, if you don't recall, was the Director of Global Dynamics in the pilot episode, replaced by Nathan Stark. The Perkins of course are from #1.01 and #1.02, and briefly later in the series as well. Jack isn't a dummy, and I'd imagine after the events of season 2 that he'd do quite a bit of digging into Beverly if he could, especially when we see how dogged he is in sussing out Eva Thorne's secrets in season 3._

_Lastly in the alchemy section I am referring to Michael Shanks' character, the artist from the episode "All That Glitters", which was #2.12._


	16. Chapter 16

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 16

I drove straight home after receiving Zane's message. It was around nine o'clock in the evening on what felt like the longest day of my life. The semi-perpetual overcast of the region had cleared off around mid afternoon leaving a largely clear night sky and allowing the newly waning moon's silver light to illuminate everything with an ethereal otherness.

Coriolis loop, the road my home/bunker lies on, is a long winding thing that cuts through the town proper. My home is at the extreme end of the road, thus the address #3 Coriolis Loop. Some nerd had been having a really good day when they were laying down the names to the area, because the "loop" is a dead end with two "empty" lots beyond mine, and the whole thing curves slightly to the right as you drive it. It's one of the things I remembered from high school science class, the Coriolis effect.

The other half of the joke is that they call it a loop. Town charter called for expansion in that direction, but since the whole place is located in a national park, they couldn't get federal approval to expand in that direction, so my "loop" gets "dead end" and "no outlet" signs on it once you leave town proper.

Pretty much everything in the region uses the town itself as the central thoroughfare, so to get to G.D. from my place you have to drive to town, cut through some of the traffic and navigate a few lights, and then you're free to hit the "logging road" that heads out of town.

The bunker itself appears on the outside to be nothing so much as a bomb shelter entrance and a rough gravel parking lot. I'd managed a very small amount of improvement over the years, mostly the removal of the old cyclone fence that had warded the area before my tenancy. Though being the sheriff of this town was by and large a slow thing, the slow days were never easy to predict, and doing any large property clearing is the type of thing you want to spend several consecutive days on. I don't often get to predict when I'll have such, though this week was perhaps the worst in my recent memory.

Plus, I was kind of lazy about it. It worked, it served it's purpose, why muck it up?

For some reason as I was pulling up that night I had the strangest image in my head. Sunlight bathing the area, most of the trees pushed back, the bunker entrance painted and cleaned, large amounts of grass, and my mailbox reading "The Carters" in flowing text. Weird… and an odd time for wish fulfillment fantasy too.

I looked around as I pulled up, noticing Zane's bike parked near the entrance. To the right was the old housing for the BRAD bunker's "defensive" systems. After that too-close call three years ago, and the resulting insanely close call with Zoe's near death, I'd had G.D. reclaim the device. Since then, and those event's I'd had a contractor work on the area to turn it into a skylight that doubled as an escape hatch. I love SARAH to a degree, but living with a sentient house has been… well lets just call it an adventure.

If we solved this, if… no, goddammit when! When we got through this and Allison was better, and we were looking at our future, I wasn't sure I'd choose here to live. One too many adventures for my taste, and adventure and toddler just do not mix. However, given SARAH's general abandonment issues it was not a subject I talked about while present, OR around Andy.

Andy… crap. I hadn't thought about him in a while. Last I'd heard he was on the road. I would have imagined that Hernandez's people would have brought him in, but there'd been no word. I tried calling him, but there was no answer. That in itself was unusual, since the incident that happened during Space Week this last year he'd had an internal communicator, a slightly different version of the thing Fargo had tried to curse me with once.

"Andy," I said into the recorder, "You're a robot, how can you be unavailable?" I'd try again later. He'd been mobile, but all the vehicles had still been at the scene when I drove by. Strange, but in my mind Zane's news outweighed this oddity.

I descended the stairs inside the old fallout shelter's entrance toward the house door, but didn't see Zane waiting there, as I had expected. I hadn't seen him outside either. Okay… I was starting to get a little creeped out.

At the bottom of the stairs there's an old rusty steel door that looks like nothing so much as a leftover from the cold war. Something else to spruce up, I guess. My grandma used to say, when people were being jumpy, that they were as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. That's about exactly how I felt when I approached my front door.

"SARAH? Are you there?" I called out as I stood before the door. I swore, if I heard BRAD I'd have bolted. Fargo insisted the BRAD AI was gone, but… Hell, this _is_ Eureka!

"Of course I am, Sheriff Carter, where would I go?" came the usual tones of her voice, though unless I was imagining something she sounded a little sarcastic. Sue me, okay? After living with a neurotic computer for four years I was over sensitive to her mood swings.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, not even trying to hide my trepidation.

"All appears nominal, Sheriff. Why, is there something I should be alert for?" she asked.

Oh, good. "Not especially. Is Zane Donovan here?"

If anything her mood turned, well, chipper. "Oh, yes. Zane is inside in the kitchen. Are you coming in?"

In my house… that little shit!

"Yes!" I said hotly, striding for the door as it opened. I charged into the living area angrily snapping, "Donovan!"

His head popped around the corner, appearing in the archway leading from the living area to the kitchen, apparently confused. "Carter?" he asked.

I proceeded toward him, angrily. "What the hell? You just decide it's okay to hack the front door of my home, too?" Okay, okay. Yes, I'd asked him to commit fifteen or twenty federal felonies just this morning, but come on! A man's home and all that!

He blinked at me dumbfounded, taking a step back, not the reaction I was expecting at all. That coupled with SARAH's immediate "Wait, Sheriff!" stopped me before I'd made it into the kitchen and completed my immediate plan of socking him one in the mouth, maybe taking out a few teeth.

"SARAH, explain." I bit out, fuming.

"I don't understand, Sheriff. Zane came by, I let him in. Did I do something wrong?" she said, sounded honestly confused. One thing about SARAH, she doesn't lie well.

"Carter? You okay, man?" asked Zane, looking unsure as to what exactly to do. I noted something then, another difference from the old Zane. In the original time line if I'd have gone after him with an intent to do some damage he would have reacted differently. Instead of putting distance between us, maybe even a barrier, he'd moved away from the wall and put himself quietly into the most open area he could considering where he was standing. A very smart fighter's move. He could go any direction, react quickly to any threat or change in the situation.

I reminded myself, yet again, to not assume everything was the same, especially with the people I'd known from my original time. This Zane had just demonstrated a tactical awareness that indicated fighting experience.

He noticed me notice.

"No, SARAH, you did okay. Just, next time tell me when you add someone to the approved list?" I half asked, half demanded.

"Of course. It's just that, after all he did for me and Andy, I consider Zane to be a friend. I am sorry to have surprised you." she replied, earnestly.

"No worries, SARAH."

Zane, no slouch, as I believe I've established, noticed that I had noticed. Whatever. You know what I mean.

He quirked an eyebrow at me, adopting that cockeyed, smug grin. "So, other-me wasn't used to tussling, huh?"

I eased back all the way on the psycho-throttle. "Not so much, no. Beer?" I asked, walking past him into the kitchen. Even during the argument SARAH had prepared my customary lager. I picked it up, taking a sip. A nice IPA. I'd have to make sure she kept this one on hand.

Zane gestured over toward a half empty tall glass on the counter. "SARAH already saw to it, thanks though."

I nodded. "Other-you?" I asked, glancing upward theatrically.

"Yeah." he replied, "I've seen to that, SARAH pretty much already knew about the time travel thing and had been keeping your secret anyway, boss."

She chimed in, "I didn't think you'd appreciate me mentioning it. Andy and I compared notes a few times and came to the same conclusions, but chose to keep it to ourselves."

I should have figured. Fargo had rebooted Andy's systems after the positronic lightning joy ride earlier this year, he'd said that the memories would be spotty. I guess that had been less so than even he thought. Andy had sussed me out within twelve hours of our return.

I took a longer pull from the beer, enjoying the cool crispness and the slightly bitter aftertaste. Right balance of hops too. Good beer.

"Not so much" I said, confirming his suspicion. "What's your experience?"

He picked up his own beer and had another drink. We both sat down on stools, across the kitchen island from each other. He thought about it for a bit. "Video games, at first, amateur stuff. Federal prison isn't a vacation resort though, picked up some stuff in North Branch."

North Branch. Jesus. NBCI isn't a nice spot. It's not the country's worst hellhole, but it's not nice by a long shot. "Why the hell did you get North Branch? I'd have figured Cumberland for white collar."

"Because I told the judge to fuck off a few too many times, then when I was being hauled off I tried to bite the bailiffs ear off." He looked at me steadily, no pride in his voice, in fact there was a measure of self-loathing in it. "My lawyers finally prevailed, about six months later. Worst six months of my life."

He glanced at me, probably trying to see what my reaction was. I played it cool. I am not in the habit of sympathizing with criminals when they have a hard time in prison.

He continued. "After that, I did get the cushier places, though they're not vacation resorts either. But, I never wanted to go through what I went through in North Ridge ever again, so I started taking some training. One of the Cumberland inmates was a professional competitor. Knew a ton of stuff. Taught me some aikido, some karate, but the guards never liked that one. Odd, really, aikido is far more dangerous for a prisoner to know."

He mused on that for a second. "After that, I was kinda hooked. You've done some of this stuff, you know what I mean." I nodded. I'm not a huge martial arts guy, I learn what I need to know to do my job and put dickwads like Hernandez down, but when you're in it, working the forms, there's a particular excitement that's hard to match. Still, I preferred baseball to bashing skulls for my exercise activities.

"So yeah, after I got out I started looking for people to teach me stuff. Found an iaidō instructor once, that was a kick, and of course that led to kendo. I never went super far in either, but after meeting Jo I really started boning up on this stuff. After all she spends a lot of time working out, and if I did the same then I'd have more chances to see her." He shrugged at the end, blushing a little.

"Hah." I laughed to myself, "I figured it had to be something like that. Let me guess, she wouldn't give you the time of day so you decided that any attention was good attention?"

He snickered derisively. "If I'm honest with myself, yeah, but if you tell her I said that…"

I shook my head. "You don't need that kind of grief from me."

He nodded toward the living room. "That is one killer sword you've got out there. It looks authentic."

I glanced over into the living area, noticing the old katana sitting on it's vertical rack up against the south wall. I remembered how I'd gotten that. Quite a story, all told, but it was a story for another day. So instead of regaling him with it, I said, "It was a gift. A fellow I knew in Japan, helped him out on a case Stateside. He gave me the sword by way of saying thanks."

Zane eyed me dubiously. He recognized the quality of the blade. I did too, I'd never tried to really learn it though, just not my thing, and after how I got it, I valued that sword too much to use it for anything other than display and honor. I wondered idly how Kiyoshi was doing these days…

"Quite the dude, that's some gift." he said, trying to lead me on.

"Another time," I demurred.

He took it for what it was worth. We'd both finished our beers by this time. We got refills and went over to the kitchen table. He had a couple of slate computers set out there already.

"So," I began, once we'd seated ourselves, "How did it go?"

"Well, it wasn't the easiest thing in the world." he drawled. He paused dramatically, then hurried on in reaction to my gimlet stare. Projection: I am not amused.

He settled in to tell me a story.

* * *

_Zane Donovan_

When you're a hacker, you have to be prepared for the unexpected. You're going to be effectively picking the lock on someone's house, going inside, and taking what you want, hopefully without them ever knowing you were there. That is unless you want to do some damage on the way.

I'd known for quite a while that there was something up with the Five, as I'd started to call them. The Sheriff, Doctor Blake, Doctor Deacon, Director Fargo, and Security Chief Lupo, had all begun to behave oddly at roughly the same time.

When Carter confirmed my suspicions in his Jeep, I was floored. That was a leap of faith I sure wasn't expecting, but after the last several weeks with Jo I had really begun to narrow down what they'd done. Avoiding the subject had seemed the surest way to keep whatever it was we had going, and after that first kiss with her I would do almost anything in my power to keep it that way.

Jo. Just the thought of her hurting in that bed, nearly taken from me before I even knew what I had, what _we_ had… that infuriated me. Made me experience anger in a way I hadn't in a very long time. Not since my father, in fact.

As much of a hard time this place had been for me, it was a hell of a lot better than the slammer. Once I'd gotten that blackmail on Mansfield, I managed to parley it into a continuation of my parole here. I did that not only because I wanted to stay out of prison, but because I wanted to be near Jo.

She'd captured me at day one. I mean, the sexiness first, but there was something about the whole package. After that first day I simply had to unravel the puzzle that was Josefina Lupo.

If I had my way I would never tell the Sheriff what I'd done immediately after leaving him, or that I had arranged our meeting outside G.D. to begin with. He would react better to that type of meeting as opposed to me showing up uninvited and ranting about how I wanted to kill the bastard that had hurt Jo.

So after meeting with Carter, I'd gone to one of the secured access points I've set up around town over the years. Wireless hacking isn't reliable, even with the type of connections we have around town, there's still the idea that you're sending data out in a large area. From that location (no, I'm not going to tell you where it is) I had tapped into the back doors I'd left in several systems around town, but most notably into Deputy Andy through a code vulnerability built in to the emotion mickey SARAH had slipped him several months back. That's not as open as it sounds, by the way. Hiding rogue code from SARAH is rather hard. The computer isn't my equal in hacking, not by a long shot, but "she" is built on a truly scary array of war-fighting programs. Fargo was either a nut or a genius to have created her, I still am not sure which. Maybe both.

It stood to reason that anyone who would offer the Sheriff violence wouldn't be a direct innocent, so I modified Andy's protocols to allow for some new behavior. Lots of plebes refer to the life preservation subroutines as "Three Laws" protocols after Isaac Asimov's stories. I get why most users do that, first there's less words, and second it's kinda cutesy. Just look at the names of fully a quarter of G.D.'s projects… Cute describes a lot of them. For being uber braniacs a lot of these guys just don't seem to get what they're playing with and have no appreciation for just how dangerous, and by extension how powerful, the things we worked on every day are.

Andy is one of those projects. Mansfield had said Eureka would be the perfect place to test out the new law enforcement machine. Lying sack of shit. Try the new advanced assault android. While there were no built-in weapons system the agility, awareness, strength and speed were an order of magnitude higher than any man. By removing those protocols, I unlocked the full range of his combat capabilities, while inserting an override switch on myself, Jo, and a few other people I wanted to be absolutely sure the robot wouldn't hurt, then I let it go.

I also couldn't resist tweaking the personality routines.

After that I slipped in to the Martha drones and added in a target routine for Tom Baxter. I wouldn't remove them from their normal routes, that might draw attention, but if they saw him they'd engage. Which meant I needed one more bit with them. I forged a re-arming requisition from Fargo's office and directed the drones to report one by one to maintenance so that their on-board weapon systems could be reinstalled and re-integrated.

After that, it gets complicated.

Carter was taking a drink from his beer, and damn good beer at that, I needed something like SARAH myself! I considered what to say in response to his query, and started with this.

"Hacking into the Department of Defense at the root level is pretty easy, but that's by design." I began. It's really odd to say this kind of thing to a cop! I kept expecting him to pull out the cuffs! "See, they set up several apparent vulnerabilities that they expect script kiddies and the amateur twats to give a go at. Plus, it pads their numbers when they say how effective the cyber-terrorism units are, because they can point to dozens of arrests and bullshit like that."

It was so like the government to intentionally set traps for half-assed and truly nonthreatening folks, then cry like they were monsters in the making. Fucking plutocrats. Yeah I'd write code in circles around those losers, and be mean as hell in a chat room or on a forum, but it's not like they deserved fucking North Ridge for this shit, and some of them got it. I didn't bother explaining this to Carter, I could tell by his expression that his 'I Don't Sympathize With Criminal Scum' mindset was firmly in place.

Right then I didn't care so much if he knew how I felt, so I wasn't trying to hide anything of my attitude. Besides I had to give him something. If I was a complete stone wall that razor sharp perception of his would pick out that I was hiding something, and then that bulldog determination would set in. Most of my coworkers don't get that. They see redneck towney cop, not the U.S. Marshall with an arrest record about as long as my freakin' arm. I'd suspected his act from about day three, and knew just how scary good the dude was at finding his bad guy.

That right there is one reason I chose to ally with him to get revenge for Jo, except he thought it was the other way around. Users…

"So once you know about that crap," I continued after a mild pause, "It's pretty easy to avoid it. The second and third layers of defense are fairly standard industrial security because they ward some of the more open secrets regions. Bids and things like that. Oh, speaking of I've got a few stock tips if you want..."

I paused while he half-glared at me.

"Right" I continued briskly, "Not the time!"

On with his story. "Well its usually fairly easy for someone like me to find his way through that, and I managed to come in through a few unprotected gateways." I had taken a moment to thank the doofus who left his computer open with no password security in the DoD, and made sure to dump a few red herrings. If my deeper probes got caught I wanted this jackass to be the first target of the investigation. I'd already left a few of those around on the networks I'd bypassed, anyhow. It's like chaff for airplanes, really. You know, that silvery stuff they blow out when someone locks a missile on? Confuses missile locks and stuff like that?

Anyway. "After that I hunted around for a few more open connections and got lucky. Another dimwit a little deeper in had left his password written on a notepad by his computer, within full view of the security cams. By the way, I think they're using those new UHD cams we came up with about a year ago, pretty cool."

Carter was shaking his head. I'd schooled him pretty hard on network security my first day here. Shit, but that had been fun. I just wish Lupo hadn't decked me after I bought all the lingerie. I had still noticed she had kept one pair though...

"So long story short I worked my way into the DARPA systems and started nosing in for the Wells files, like you asked. This is where it gets interesting." I dropped the last bit a little ominously.

He took a sip from his beer, calmly asking "I'm guessing you evaded whatever it was, because you're sitting here talking calmly and not freaking out."

"I don't freak out!" I snapped at him. He grinned like a shark. Hm. He rolled his hand around in a 'come on, keep it rolling' gesture.

I sighed and continued. "Look, in all the things I've done over the years, I have only run into a directed defense maybe about three times in my life. That means there was someone on the other end who's job it was to make sure no one got in or left with anything. I haven't faced active countermeasures in a long time, and whoever it was operating this system knew full well what they were doing and what they had at their disposal."

He was looking grim, probably because I wasn't sounding like I had good news, but I did. A little anyway. "It's habit for me to leave several layers of defense, and I'm glad I did because my opponent started ripping things apart shortly after I began downloads."

Carter flinched. "Zane, you said you got something..."

"Patience, lawdog! I'm getting there." I admonished him.

He looked at me with that gimlet eye again. Shit he's good at that… "Well, anyway." I said. Time to wrap. "So I did what any good hacker would do. I went on the offensive. We had ourselves a nice little battle, man. Pretty kick ass stuff too, but I did outsmart him. I knew what I was after so I could pull one of the old Sun Tzu tricks and misdirect. I put most of my attacks on a different area, making a few runs at some firewalls in one sector while he tried to sever my access."

"Of course a good hacker has more than one supply line too, I had four entries into the secure stores before I had started nosing around. My ruse worked." I tapped the slate in front of him, then pressed my thumb to the screen letting the biometrics scan me.

"But it didn't work well enough. I got Baxter and Lobot, I got some other things protected in there, but I couldn't get all of Jo's files, not to mention some of the stuff Henry's been in. My biggest red herring was going after some files deeper in Wells, and you know what? I swear they had a time travel incident report from the 1800s."

He blinked at me, confused. "I shit you not" I said. I smirked a little. "I always wondered why they called it Wells, it just seemed too damned obvious to tie it to H.G. Wells and the time machine shit, but he may just have done it!"

He had picked up the slate, going over the data inside, nodding slowly, then getting a kind of predatory grin on his face that frankly sent shivers up my spine.

"On the way out I sent my data to about a half-dozen different prepared sites, and I'm glad I did it like that. Another standard precaution that turned out wise in the end. It cave me cover to send the data to one secure store quietly, the rest went out noisy. If they ever track this down, well lets just say that I think at this point they'll be convinced they caught their hackers."

The predatory grin vanished, he looked sharply at me saying, "Zane, tell me you didn't set up some innocent person to fall for this!"

"What? No!" I replied, indignant. Well, only one person, but still. Bastard deserved it. "No man, I knew like three or four really savvy dudes across the world that have tried to hack Eureka before. A few of them sell to the highest bidder, so I gave the DoD a lead on some of their most wanted terrorist buddies. Hell, you guys oughta thank me for that!"

He chuckled, obviously relieved.

I leaned back in my chair, lacing my hands behind my head, supremely satisfied. Now, time to get some vengeance on of my own. Carter and I could track down that sonofabitch and-

Of course right then is precisely when SARAH chose to should "Intruder Alert!" and the super-hard glass skylight in the living room exploded!

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **I hope the POV switch to Zane doesn't throw anyone. I'm going back to Carter for the next chapter, but I needed to get across some info that Zane would not tell Carter in any way, shape, or form._

_Zane is a harder bitten man in my version of Eureka, as no doubt evinced in this story. For his catalog of martial skills, I'm not trying to build a monster, but he's extremely smart, so he probably picks and chooses what to learn._

_Aikido _(合気道)_ is a Japanese martial art translated to mean "the Way of harmonious spirit." It is extremely good at redirecting attacks, and is a very defensive form. Steven Seagal is a recognized master, currently a 7th dan and Shihan._

_Iaidō _(居合道)_ is another Japanese art that primarily focuses on the quick and efficient drawing of your sword, striking your opponent, removing blood from the blade, and then replacing the sword in the scabbard. Any old samurai movie will give you a good idea what it looks like._

_Kendo _(剣道)_ means "Way of the Sword", and is a modern Japanese art form that's more sport than real fighting, but it teaches a lot. It's based off of kenjutsu, the umbrella term for all traditional schools of Japanese swordsmanship._

_All these Japanese forms are (to me) exactly the sort of thing a nerd would go for, after all I've dabbled in them all myself at one time or another. I suck at them all, but hey!_

_The sword has been in the show since day two, I think. I haven't been terribly over it, but I noticed it first in season 4, thought it was Jo's. It fits her after all. But then, in researching the pastor for Chapter 14 and re-watching #2.10 "God Is in the Details", it noticed it sitting in the hallway next to the stairs._

_I tweeted at series creator Jaime Paglia, asking it's origin, and he said it was part of Fargo's initial decoration of the place. I don't like that so much, it's so obviously a hook for a story that I just couldn't let it go. So when one of my buddies suggested an origin, I had to go with it. So, I'll be working on a fic that I'm calling "The Sword" for later. I'll deal with it after "Fathers", but right after this I think I need some Jallison lemons…_


	17. Chapter 17

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 17

Jack Carter

I had just about three seconds to try and absorb what was on Zane's slate and his words before all hell broke loose!

"Intruder alert!" shouted SARAH, then there was a tremendous crashing sound and the handy little skylight I'd had installed blew in. Two blocky shapes fell in immediately after.

"Zane! Down!" I shouted, diving for cover. I hit the floor, about as vainly as a newborn calf, scrambling around the corner and putting the utility block with the refrigerator between me and the intruders. Snarling controlled bursts of gunfire chased me, thwacking into the concrete walls after smashing apart wood and cloth paneling.

I'd had the barest of moments to notice them as they came through the hole, dropping with heavy kludging thumps into the floor. Large men, football linebackers by their shape, gray/black urban camouflage, lots of gear. Heavy duty sub machine guns. Falls like that...

"Detention procedures initiated!" said SARAH. She never shouts, more like says things loudly, but she most definitely sounded agitated. There was a flash or orange-ish light and aloud buzzing hum, and two startled grunts, followed by loud thuds.

I pulled my gun from the holster and pivoted low around the corner, gun leading the way. Two conical energy beams, I guess, were apparently pinning both goons down. Goon is about the only word for it too, huge bruisers that made Sergeant Graves look like a small man. Quickly assessing the situation, I noticed that Zane had gone low and made cover on the opposite side of the living area. His back was to a couch, legs coiled and ready to spring again.

I moved up on the two bruisers, remember the last time I'd seen SARAH use this tool, back when the purple goo form Eva Thorne's bunker had started aging Zoe super prematurely. Gun leveled at the two I briskly approached. There's a special kind of walk they teach you in these situations, back when I had trained as a marshal. It looks ungainly as hell, feels like it at first too, but the whole thing is designed so that you can slip into a shooter's stance in less than half a second, no matter how you're standing.

I didn't recognize either man. The first one was rolled on his back, right hand struggling to reach the weapon on the floor next to him, the second kneeling with one leg propped underneath him and his free arm helping support him while his right hand still clutched the handle of his weapon. My first impression had been right, huge man, blocky features. Linebacker or similar. The color distortion of the beam made it difficult to make out extra detail.

I did have a moment to take in the detail of their weapons. H&K MP5Ks. The special model for Homeland Security counter terrorist forces that I'd been briefed on as part Jo's freakin' test. My clearance level as Eureka's Sheriff was pretty damned high. These guys were fucking scary! Like a real version of that Rainbow Six team from Tom Clancy's books.

Both men were, I realized with a mild shock, fighting against, and succeeding against, SARAH's containment field! "Zane, we're clear, get to the door! Now!"

I kept both men under cover as I moved around them. The one who was kneeling like some character out of a comic book snapped his head around to track me, his eyes wide. That's when I noticed his left eye wasn't an eye. It was covered in some sort of, well... _thing_. Almost like one of those things from Star Trek. Crap, Zane would know the name. Except on this dude it looked functional! That's also when I noticed, sticking up from behind his right ear, a 6-inch long rubberized antenna...

What. The. Fuck?

Zane and I moved. We neared the front door just as SARAH said loudly, "Sheriff that action is-" I'm pretty sure she was going to warn us off. It's a shame, sometimes, that she has to speak so formally. Maybe I ought to have fixed that.

My front door, what I'd considered one of the most secure barriers I'd ever lived behind, blew open with a roar and a concussive shock that put me flat on my back in the middle of the living room. I lost Zane in my confusion, I only had enough attention to spare for me.

God dammit Jack, your fucking home is being invaded! Stop fucking reacting and _do_ something!

Amazingly I hadn't lost my gun in my tumble. Lying flat on my back I whipped it down, halfway sitting up and focusing on the smoking portal. Another linebacker shape appeared and started to swivel on me.

I fired three times, each one a controlled shot. I hit with two. One center mass, the other through the man's head. He went down like hard, like a puppet with the strings suddenly cut. Odd analogy, Jack. You're morbid tonight...

Mister comic book, now to my left, moved. I knew that couldn't be good, those beams were like that containment field I'd stumbled on during that G.D. science fair with the space junk crisis. I know for damn sure I couldn't have done that. No way in hell.

I rolled to my right, getting a serious case of dizziness, but still trying to bring my gun up. I rolled up into a kneeling position, so very thankful right then for that training and those reflexes I'd been cursing four days ago.

It was like the man was moving in a soup, but he was still managing. The sub-machine gun was about half way up when I unsteadily brought my pistol into line and just emptied the magazine. I didn't have a clear enough head to aim each shot.

I kept pulling the trigger, spent brass cascading to the side, the gun rocking like a wild thing, until the slide locked back. I'm not sure which bullet did it, but somewhere in the last two or three, Comic Book dropped flat to the ground.

Which is when the _fourth_ bozo came in through the front door. Instead of gunning for me, however, he brought H&K up and pointed at the ceiling above his detained comrade, and held the trigger down. All sound lost in the roar of the gun, I only had time to notice the shower of sparks as the containment projector exploded in a wash of pent up energy.

The beam flickered and died.

In all of this I had nearly forgotten Zane. Apparently he wasn't a threat target on my profile. Mistake on Baxter's part. Big fucking mistake.

"EEAAAI!" screamed Zane, the sound muffled in my damaged hearing, but I could almost feel the force of it. Out of the smoke in the entrance way he appeared in a flash, Kiyoshi's sword in his hands describing a flashing arc of nearly liquid steel.

Gunman Four's gun arm detached at the elbow!

In a split second of clarity I saw the now standing first goon blink in surprise at that. He started bringing up that gun to hose both number four and Zane in the same stream of bullets.

I beat him to the punch, taking a flying leap across the couch and tackling the bastard straight into the kitchen table. The glass construction shattered, shards of glass flying everywhere.

That earned me a full force chopping strike to the joint in my neck. My world became pain, and I was dimly aware, more by the shock of it than the actual awareness of the event, that I'd been thrown away and was now crumpled against the couch.

I never saw until later what Zane had wrought on Number Four, but Number One found out shortly thereafter. In my hazing red-occluded vision (why couldn't I see very well out of my right eye?) I noticed a flash of movement.

Zane came into my vision moving like I'd only seen a few men do. With that sword in his hands he was a different man. Of course he would be. It was Kiyoshi's sword after all. The similarities in their movements overlaid each other in my mind, and it was only later that I realized I wasn't watching my old friend.

I was down for the count. I couldn't have helped if I wanted to.

I didn't need to.

Zane moved like quicksilver, the sword flashing in his hands. Number One's gun hand got lopped off. In a scream of rage he pulled a heavy duty combat knife of some kind off his web vest, reversing the grip in a knife fighter's hold.

The two traded blows for a few second. It's not like in the movies where a sword fight lasts ridiculous amounts of time. In a real fight with blades it's over fast. Either both sides decide that this isn't really worth it, or one side is a bleeding mess, lucky if his guts aren't spread out on the ground like a double-handful of ropes.

The end came fast. Number One dove in to a perceived opening, the knife flashing up and missing, then he did the real strike, a reverse chopping blow that came down on Zane's leg. That strike is supposed to catch the inside of the leg, on the femoral artery. If you cut both of them blood will drain out of your victim like tea from a cup that is suddenly without a bottom. Zane took the strike on the outside, in the meatiest part of the thigh.

He didn't scream. Instead he quickly twisted and the sword flashed. Number One's head went tumbling across the floor, landing somewhere beyond my vision. The headless corpse shuddered for a minute, falling first to one knee, then completely collapsing.

Shit, this was gonna cost a fortune to clean...

I blacked out.

* * *

Zane Donovan

It was out of desperation that I grabbed that sword. I'm not in Carter's league, not by a goddamn long shot. That man reacted like a machine! I've never seen anyone else do that, except some of the sensei I've trained with. For an old man he moves like nothing else.

After the chaos and initial gunfire, I realized the goons weren't looking directly at me, so I took a moment to have a look, trying desperately to decide what to do. Old survival instincts from my six months at North Branch Criminal Internment came rushing back.

In a shit hole like that you learn hard and fast how to live, or you end up shivved and bleeding out or a bitch and taking it up the ass. Not momma Donovan's little boy, no way in hell.

The two men who first entered were dressed like urban commandos. Huge men that looked to me like nothing so much as those steroid goons from that X-Box game "Gears of War", only, you know, without the big metal armor and assault rifles with chainsaws. I noticed immediately the rubber antenna whips sticking up behind their left ears, as well as the Borg-like structures over one eye each. I wasn't exactly sure what that was all about, but it was obvious the antennae weren't connected to some thing they were wearing, there was scarring.

Both were wearing bandannas over their heads, tied in the back, but something was wrong with the backsides of their heads, like they were slightly larger than they ought to be.

After SARAH's annular confinement beam activated, Carter and I made for the door.

Then came the real boom.

When the dizziness from the concussion started to clear I was coughing, up against the wall, totally befuddled. Nothing made sense, hell up and down were a bit mixed up. I felt like vomiting.

I remember shaking my head to clear my vision, and then there was this horrible sound, a cacophonous buzz saw ripping sound as someone very near me let loose with a machine gun. Amidst all of that, however, I can only say I heard this chiming ring in the back of my skull.

Carter fucking well owes me an explanation on this, and I _will_ get one someday!

Almost of its own volition my head snapped to the left and I saw that fine ass sword standing there, handle up, like it was inviting me to grab it.

So I did. Hell, I know how to use a sword, I've been doing kendo for years. True, this would have been my very first ever real fight with one, but...

As soon as that thing was in my hands the smoke stopped bugging me. Oh, it was still there, I was still breathing it, but it suddenly didn't matter a whole lot. My breathing automatically shifted to my nose and I snapped up my jaw. Idiot. A lax jaw in a fight is a broken one! Didn't I know anything?

What the fuck?

I moved through the smoke, noticing the dude with the gun, now lowering it to aim at Carter. I tensed every muscle, and with a shout of exertion, just like I'd been taught, but never managed to execute perfectly until that night, I went through the smoke and struck.

The rest became a little bit of a blur. I remember flashes and instances of the fighting, but I was so in the moment that I suspect I'm going to need hypnosis to clearly remember everything. Maybe a visit to Grace Deacon's Alzheimer's research? Anyway.

I remember taking the fourth man's head off. It's something that's going to be with me for a while, a damn long while. The ease with which I'd done both dismemberments frightened the hell out of me. These were moves I know, but the sword was insanely sharp!

I know that next I was coming again to Carter's rescue, but cognizant his football-style tackle (why didn't he do a leg sweep?) had been what kept a magazine full of bullets from downing me a spare moment before.

Carter took three fast blows so fast I don't think he felt them all. One to the side of his head, one to his neck, and another to the solar plexus. All three were expert strikes of a man very used to killing with his hands. Carter stumbled back from the first gunner, winding up against the couch and staring at us dumbly.

I dove into the fight, and again led with a dismemberment. That the man continued fighting, as had the first, was just wrong in so many ways. Something inside me was rebelling against this, a little voice saying "no" over and over and wanting to crawl in a corner and hide.

I ignored it, though not easily. That voice gets you killed. That voice makes you weak. Shivved and bleeding out or the other.

How I managed that fight I don't think I'll ever know, but by this point I was aware that I was doing moves I had never, ever been trained for, reacting like I've never done before in my life, or I suspect since. I certainly would not have chosen the final strike of that fight, though in retrospect I _knew_, beyond a shadow of doubt, that it was the only way I was going to win.

The pain... I don't think I can accurately describe the pain!

As the first gunner's head went bounding away and blood fountained in a grisly arc, I collapsed to one knee, blinking. I knew instantly that my leg needed tending, and hardly without thinking I whipped my belt out of its loops and tightened it fiercely around my leg, above the injury, making a crude tourniquet with it and a spare table knife from the mess.

I sat down roughly next to Carter's unconscious form, having reflexively cleared the blood from the sword's blade with a quick flick, like it was old habit.

I blinked a few times at the sword, admiring it's beauty in a half-hearted fashion, then lost consciousness.

* * *

Jack Carter

I came back to myself in someone's arms, being carried like a rag doll. I didn't sort everything out until I was dumped on one half of Showalter's Scout bench seat, then my rescuer was gone.

I drifted for a second until I realized that the person was back, and Zane was now in the back bench seat, groaning in pain.

"Hold these and strap yourself in, Sheriff." said Andy in a brusque and no-nonsense voice. I reflexively grabbed for the two slate computers that were handed to me.

"Andy?" I asked weakly, but somehow managed to do as instructed. The Scout roared back to life and we were moving.

"Yes, Sheriff. I responded to SARAH's distress call and came as soon as possible. I regret that it was not sooner, though it appears you will live." I almost missed the Mayberry at that point, then remembered how annoying it had been in any number of crisis situations.

I coughed. My head exploded into agony. I may have blacked out for a bit, but the biting wind in the dark night brought me back around. I didn't much feel like talking, but had to get some more info.

"How's Zane, and how are you?" I asked.

Andy continued to drive, quite well, and said with very little inflection, "Mister Donovan is well, for the time being. The knife wound could not have hit at a better angle to ensure survival. Absolutely no bone scarring, no arterial damage, just muscles. I am adequate, though I still require reskinning."

I glanced over at the robot. He was right, the skin was still hanging in tatters in some places, revealing the machine underneath. I call him Terminator, but the covering on him is quite different. It feels like real skin if you touch it, but there's no gobs of flesh or blood hanging on over the steel endoskeleton. In fact underneath isn't a skeleton at all, but a pretty complete exterior shape.

He'd dressed in a new uniform, and the damaged left arm appeared functional because he was using it to drive with, but it was hard to tell underneath sleeve of his uniform.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Global Dynamics Medical, Sheriff." he replied. "Mister Donovan requires immediate attention. Likewise your eye needs to be seen to soon, or that damage to your vision could become permanent."

I let him drive.

* * *

Jack Carter

We arrived at G.D. soon enough. I loathed seeing it again so soon. Today was definitely high on the hate-meter quotient of the love-hate relationship I have with this place.

Soon enough I got put in a bed in the general infirmary. After that it was quiet, doctors and nurses looking me over, lights shining in my eyes, fingers snapping by my ears, things like that.

Some time later I was sitting in the bed, slightly propped up. I blinked my eyes, realizing I'd been dozing. When I turned my head to look around everything tightened up and I gasped from the pain.

I blinked through the tears brought on by the pain. I realized I could see well through my injured eye again.

"Dad!" came an urgent cry, then I was half-crushed and gasping in pain again as my daughter hugged me for all she was worth.

"Easy, Zo" I coughed out, groaning. She flinched back, probably just realizing what she'd done.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she apologized quickly, backing off with her hands waving fretfully. I reached out and grabbed one.

"Hey, s'okay. I just need my ribs." I grinned weakly. I felt like shit warmed over. Everything hurt. Again.

She started crying and leaned into me more gently, just hanging on. Poor kid. I kissed the top of her head and said in a whisper "I'm okay, baby. Daddy's gonna be fine."

"Carter," came Jo's voice from my left. "You look as bad as I feel." I glanced over at her and smiled. I could see she was giving me the brave face. She was also much more in work mode. When we'd brought her in they'd put her hair under a cap, and after she'd worn it loose. Now it was pulled back in that customary business ponytail. She had a pair of slate computers in her lap.

After tossing her verbal grenade at me though, I could see the relief in her eyes.

I smirked and winked. That hurt too. Dammit. She turned to look to her left after making sure I was alive. Zane was in the bed next to her, still doped up to the gills. They had his leg wrapped in some sort of mechanism with neon green lights all over it, looking like nothing so much as a Christmas wreath.

An IV was hooked up to him and I could see a bag of blood hanging off it.

"How's Zane?" I asked.

Jo glanced back at me, saying, "He'll live. They say the knife wound is going to take some repair work, but he'll get full recovery out of it. He's got a half dozen other minor cuts and apparently decided to roll in that safety glass of your ceiling."

"Good" I said. "He saved my life, Jo."

I felt Zoe tense at that, Jo looked at me with a worried expression. "He what?" she asked.

"Saved my life. Picked up that sword in the living room and went to work..." I trailed off, remembering it in fits and flashes.

"Zane did what?" Zoe asked, sitting up now, concern writ large on her face. She nervously combed the bangs of her hair out of the way as she sought my eyes.

"Fought to save us both. He could've run, but he stuck it out and saved me." I said. I realized I felt a tremendous amount of respect and thankfulness for that. Whatever his reasons I don't think I'd be alive if he hadn't been there.

"With that old sword?" she asked. "The one from Japan that your friend gave you?"

I nodded.

"Wow." she said, glancing over at Zane with new respect. Jo looked like she was following a Pong match, wide eyes and head on a swivel, track between Zane's bed and mine.

I turned back to Zoe. She looked like a wreck. Concern and worry looked to be the only things she could feel at the moment. She'd definitely been crying, her make-up smeared and looking like hell.

"Update time." I said quietly.

She took a deep breath and nodded. Marshaling herself and willing her tears to go away. "Allison's still in a bad way. Kevin won't leave the observation room, but he's stopped trying to get in. Brian, that's the nanny Allison hired, but you know that, crap... Um yeah, Brian has agreed to keep Jenna for a while. Everyone else is very busy trying to crack whatever this is. I tried to help but I couldn't." She broke off, starting to cry, "I couldn't focus after I heard about you."

I hugged her back too me. As bad as I felt, she wasn't going through a cake walk either. She'd lost he best friend, her potential new step mom... I refused to finish that thought. I couldn't face that now. She _had_ to get better! I needed her to. After finally admitting my love for Allison, and finding that love reciprocated, I couldn't bear to live without her. That, I knew with the utmost certainty, would kill me.

"Thanks, Zoe. Thank you for keeping on top of this. I'm sorry you had to, but I'm proud too." She pulled back, sniffing and wiping her nose and eyes. She smiled weakly.

My little girl, all grown up.

A short time later Doctor Idha Malavi came in to talk to me. "Hello, Jack. When I asked you to come back in I didn't mean this." she said, gently teasing.

I couldn't help it, it was funny. I laughed. It hurt. "What's up Doc?" I asked.

She smiled, her warm eyes finding mine. She's a good person. "Well, you managed to get into one hell of a fight, Sheriff. Between you and Mister Donovan you managed to come out alive. You suffered a number of injuries that are compounding with what you experienced yesterday."

Good lord, yesterday? Really? It felt like an age ago.

"Well, technically the day before. It's eight o'clock right now." she said with a smile.

"What?" I gasped out. No. Too much time! Not enough time! What the hell? I started getting up, ready to rip out the IV cords, but dizziness overwhelmed me, and between Zoe and Doctor Malavi they got me forced back down on the bed with shouts of disapproval and negation.

"Dad, no!" Zoe was saying, trying to keep me from fighting free. "Sheriff, please!" Idha was yelling. It was Jo's bellowed "Carter! Stop!" that broke through my urgency and mania.

I felt the fight leave me and laid back down. Crap. Too much time, if Baxter knew, and he did, that I'd survived he'd have all that much more time to prepare for my coming. The whole element of surprise was gone, now! Dammit!

"Carter!" Jo barked, "Relax, man, we're on it!"

I looked at her, saw the calm assurance in her eyes, and relaxed.

"Brief me." I said, hoarsely.

Doctor Malavi and Zoe both nervously back off, the former waiving off a pair of male nurses that looked to be coming my way with the serious intent of restraint.

Jo nodded, continuing in a brisk, military fashion. "Andy gave me the slates that you and Zane had in the house. I went over the notes, and I've got a team heading out to take care of it now. Andy's leading them."

I went over again what I'd learned while reading Zane's notes.

The bunker. Project Lobot had been moved from G.D.'s main building back in 2004. After the chimp had gone bugfuck nuts and self-lobotomized, Baxter had been promoted to project leader. His direct boss, one doctor James Lyman, a man who was still alive in the time line I'd come from, was one of the two researchers murdered in that incident.

The project had moved to a secured bunker on a forest service road at the south end of the EM enclosure. It was designed to completely separate the project from G.D., and to contain any potential breaches. It had then gone on to human testing. I had a sudden flash of insight as I drew the lines between my attackers in SARAH and the project. At least three teams of men had been volunteered for testing, special forces commandos and the like.

It had failed miserably in 2008. The first team, after all three had been implanted, had pulled the monkey trick, and it's taken a number of guys to put them back down. After that the program had been block listed and shut down, but since the implanting job was a permanent thing, the eight remaining men had been isolated in cryogenics units trucked into the facility. A nuclear batter had been set in place so that the units would remain powered and the men alive, until such time as they could be fixed.

And now? With the nanites he had at his disposal? I could testify with certainty that he finally got those eight remaining guys working.

Then the whole thing got redacted and set behind the Wells protocols. Everyone except Fargo an Jo, and from the records, me and apparently Mansfield, had forgotten it. And of those four, three of us were replaced less than two years later with copies from an alternate past where none of this shit had ever happened...

Oh. And Baxter's second string man in charge of research, brought in because of his highly decorated military special forces record? Bob Graham. Pilar's dad.

"Jo." I whispered urgently, "They can't know what they're up against!"

Jo glared at me, offended. "Carter, they've got it! Hernandez is leading, and despite being a general ass hat, he's a good solid man in the field. Wozniak and Kroons are good heavies, and he's got Martin and Fields backing him up, they can handle it!"

I shook my head, not believing it. "Fine. You've got a feed somewhere, I want to watch! I need to see this fucking asshole go down!"

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** Here we go! Kicking of the finale! Two, maybe three more chapters left? I'm not entirely sure, but we'll see how it goes. Hope you enjoy!_


	18. Chapter 18

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 18

Bob Graham, technically Robert Andrew Graham II... If MACV-SOG has still been around he'd have been one of their agents. It didn't surprise me that I hadn't realized what I'd seen sitting in front of me on that interview a few nights ago, that was to be expected. Guys like that don't boast about it. He was decorated as hell: Silver Star twice, Distinguished Service Cross, more than one Purple Heart.

His deployment record: Grenada, Libya, Iraq, Panama, Nicaragua, Afghanistan, Chechnya, Yugoslavia... it read like a bullet points list of every single hot spot the U.S. Military had been engaged in from 1980 through 1998, as well as places we'd officially had squat to do with. Relocation to Eureka had kept him out of GWOT operations, but former commanders had tried to get him pulled back out of his "top secret" projects at least a half-dozen times.

In full dress his ribbon board would dwarf the one General Mansfield wore so proudly. With what I'd just found out I was quite frankly even _more _afraid of what was going to happen in the next several hours than not. Bob had been one of those guys that preceded the tip of the spear. All of that meant he had probably overseen the training aspects of those bruisers that had just tried to kill me and Zane. Well, me mostly. Zane was incidental to that, I thought. But the data slate said there were at least eight more guys like that. He and I had been lucky! If they'd have waited, jumped us coming out for instance, the outcome wouldn't have been the same.

I felt like an ass for thinking of the situation like this, but in a lot of ways I was lucky that it had been a scientist directing those much more capable men to do their mayhem. He didn't have the same tactical awareness or patience that a trained killer had, so he made mistakes. Enough of them that I was still alive, anyhow.

I stewed over that problem in silence. I didn't really want to sic G.D. security on Bob, but if he got in their way I feared there would be bloodshed.

* * *

Jo's team reported in about an hour later, and she readily agreed to let me view the operation.

I convinced the good doctor to at least let me change out of the hospital scrubs. I'd gone through all my clean uniforms though, at least the ones outside of my house, so all I had was a pair of casuals that Zoe had brought from Allison's house. No one was getting into SARAH for a little while, and the last thing I wanted my little girl to see was that slaughterhouse. I didn't know if I could go back myself.

I've never been the victim of a home invasion before. Most people that figure it out are savvy enough to usually avoid a police officer's home, but I suppose when all you're doing is throwing puppets at a problem the value of a human life plummets to all new depths. It's not like this is a new thought, though. Just look at any corrupt regime, wherever the powerful think that the weak are their mere minions, it's the same. This was, however, the most personal expression of this concept. What's that adage about power and corruption?

It took a bit of doing, but we persuaded Doctor Malavi to permit Jo to use a wheelchair, as long as someone else pushed it for her. When I offered that was rebuffed immediately. Though my injuries were far less severe, that was only because they'd been closer to superficial, and she didn't want me exerting for a few more days at the least.

In the end we settled on one of the R.N.s, a younger girl I recognized from Tesla by name of Shirleen. She was a bright and cheerful girl, all smiles and happiness, blond and bubbly.

She drove Jo insane.

"Shirleen!" snapped Jo as we moved through the corridors toward the security CIC. The young girl had been in the midst of a bright and happy little story about helping her older sister care for the family's new baby and how that had inspired her to go into medical practice. It was painfully obvious to me that Shirleen hadn't read Jo's chart. A story like that and her injuries...

Jo's voice was a touch raw when she snapped, "Just, please, shut up."

I had thought to interrupt, but wasn't paying as much attention as I should have. I still hurt like hell pretty much everywhere, and I'd been too stubborn to take the cortisone shot to dull the pain.

Jo glanced at me, covertly. I kept from making eye contact. The shocked nurse faltered a bit in her steps.

She looked to be blinking back tears when she said, "I'm so sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"No," replied Jo, shortly.

"But-" she tried again.

"Please?" interrupted Jo. Shirleen remained quiet the rest of the way, completely unsure of what the problem was.

Once we made it to the security CIC Jo was handed off to one of her guys that had been alerted to our impending arrival. I thought for a moment about remaining behind to explain to Shirleen that it was about the reproductive injury she'd sustained, and that had done to Jo's likelihood of ever having a family, but I didn't have a freaking clue how to approach that. I'm a guy, and if there's any one thing that throws us for a loop, it's "feminine issues."

On top of that, it was Jo I owed my loyalty to, and a friend doesn't share dirt about another friend's hurts.

A place like Global Dynamics doesn't run their security half-assed. Back in the original time line, however, the security chiefs had been very business oriented and much less about military interventions. With the increased military oversight in this time line the attitude toward security had changed.

I have no idea what this series of rooms was originally used for, but it is an adjunct to Jo's office. You can get there from here by heading to the top row and entering a corridor that runs by there. The room itself remind me a lot of generic mission control centers from space movies, but not nearly so large as the ones from Apollo 13. There is a gigantic MFD, or multi-functional display, on one wall. Arrayed in three rows are banks of stations, totaling fifteen in all. All of these sweep stadium style so that each row can see the MFD clearly. For a mercy the command station was on the same level as the entrance, so no stairs for Jo's wheelchair. In most cases the stations aren't manned by any more than a half-dozen personnel.

These people serve as a 911 center for the town, as so many of the scientists have home projects that G.D. Security needs to keep tabs on. That portion, the 911 line, is staffed 24-7, and most of the time routes calls through to my office. Tonight it looked like Angela Miller was on duty. Nice gal, good in a tight spot and never lost her calm whether it was a panicked scientist hyperventilating over an imagined issue or a true emergency.

Tonight however there was a full staff on hand. Now, unlike most of the bruisers that make up the Security staff front line, these folks are much more on the paperwork and electronic side of the security issues, so they tended to look a whole lot less like linebackers and a whole lot more like college students, though in fact everyone was dressed in the black security standard uniform.

I don't pretend to know what even half of these people were doing. To me their jobs seemed redundant, but maybe for the operation like they were pursuing it wouldn't be.

Jo and I moved over toward the commander's station. Habitually this post is either unmanned or filled by someone else needing another terminal. Whenever there's an emergency Jo absolutely loathes not being in front, leading the troops into harm's way, kicking down Hell's doors to come to the rescue or just to kick some ass.

She was made for this job.

There was an office chair sitting nearby for me to use. We pulled up to the desk and she flipped on monitors, quickly adjusting everything to her liking. I tried not to get in the way. Up on the big MFD there were several views. I realized quickly that the six windows at the bottom of the screen were camera views for the six members of the team. Each had the team members name in neon green in the bottom right, and a small display showing immediate vitals. Looking down the tiers at the doctors' section, I could make out that the three doctors each had two individual vitals displays up, though in far greater details than the small windows on the MFDs showed.

I need to amend that description, by the way. Two of the doctors had two displays each, the third had one. Obviously Andy didn't merit a medical diagnostics relay.

I had a sudden sinking feeling, combining my dread about what they were facing with a movie I'd seen years ago. I silently prayed this wouldn't turn out like that.

Come on, Carter, I thought, this is real life, not a damned movie. Another part of me thought back, Don't kid yourself, this is Eureka. How many movies have you survived now, anyhow?

Director of Research Douglas Fargo came in with Larry trailing in his wake. For once Larry seemed subdued. There had been a severe change in the man in the last few weeks. Fargo, I mean. Larry was still that same kiss ass he'd always been. I was just glad the moron wasn't stuffing his face at the moment. The guard at the door snapped to attention with a mild "Director." Fargo nodded his assent, then turned and headed toward us.

Jo blanched as he approached, but made a gesture at the command desk with a question in her eyes. Fargo backed away, shaking his head and putting up a hand, waving off the notion. "No, Jo. I'm just here to watch. These are my guys too." He took up a post off to the side in the shadows in the back.

Like I'd said. Growth. It seemed in the last few weeks that whatever it was that he'd seen in those hallucinations that had given me and Alli our final push to become serious had made a fantastic change in him. He was assertive, direct, a little courageous, and tenacious when it came to his fields of expertise. I'd heard it had been driving Mansfield fucking nuts.

Rumor had it that he'd been on the short list to have his job scrapped, but it appeared that the fallout of the DED theft by Barlowe's shadow group had put a serious dent in the General's ability to run the town as his little pet project, most especially when the investigator had vindicated Fargo's decisions and officially reprimanded Mansfield's performance, most especially in light of the fact that it had been Fargo's people that had recovered the weapon and halted the plot, while the General's efforts had frankly amounted to squat.

"Alright control." said Hernandez over the comm link, "We're ready here."

On the cams it was easy to see the team looking at each other, all geared for full combat detail. Andy, apparently in an effort to avoid creeping folks out, was wearing a fully enclosed helmet. The large MFD showed a map of the town in blowup, and the particular region in specific. A light wavering to the image and general lateral shift made me think that the eye in the sky was probably one of the Marthas. The team was assembled at the end of another "logging road" at the south end of the EM enclosure. It was tagged in signage as a restricted access area, not open to hikers. Of course none of the trail head around Eureka were open to such but residents so the sign didn't mean a whole hell of a lot.

"Hernandez." said Jo into her mic, "You're clear to proceed. Be careful."

"Chief Lupo, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah, Jerry, they let me out of sickbed. Time for me to stop playing hooky." she teased, but there was frustration in her voice and posture. Over the comms it probably sounded sincere.

"Roger. Good to have you back, ma'am" he replied. "Alright, team, like we discussed, two by two up the trail, five seconds separation. Tin man, you're with me."

A general chorus of "yes sirs" answered him and the six-man team moved out into the early morning woods, leaving a few reserve squad members back at the staging area with the relay truck.

Forestation around Eureka can be fairly thick. Most soldier types don't count the Pacific Northwest as tough brush. By no means is it Laos or Cambodia. Remember though that the first and most serious Rambo movie, First Blood, takes place out this way and just precisely how nasty it was for those cops to take on old Sly. I get accused of reading too much into movies, but seriously, think about it.

Still, this was a Bunker that had received trucked in supplies, so the pathway was fairly wide open. A forklift could have made it one way, so all the men had clear walks on their way up. Status reports rang out from around the room as the operation proceeded and I started to feel a little hopeful.

It lasted until they sighted on the bunker. The structure just looked ominous. How the hell can these guys have such a talent for making just menacing as hell evil scientist architecture? It must be in the town charter somewhere. It was a low structure made primarily of concrete. Where the entrance to my possibly former home is a simple aboveground entryway, this structure was much larger. Low slung and very solid looking, I wondered how they were planning to breach, but it never came to be an issue.

"Hold up, think I saw something..." said one of the guys, I couldn't make out which. Hernandez held up the squad and gave quick orders. The team dispersed to find cover by tree trunks and the like.

Silence reigned for minutes. Head mounted cameras showing the men all had their heads on a swivel. Nothing moved.

"Control," Hernandez whispered into his mic, "Picking up anything?" The big MFD showed only icons of the team, no other contacts that the drone could see.

"Nothing, Hernandez." Jo said into her pick up. She turned toward another member of the security staff and said, "Luke, see if you can't get some better reception on Martha."

A young man two rows down nodded assent and went to work over his console. The atmosphere in the room was tense. Everyone here knew what had happened to Graves and Hanson. Everyone had a standing this one.

A short while later the technician nodded in satisfaction. The MFD went through several display changes that confused me some, but it looked like the drone was flying to different angles and trying different spectrum.

A short while later Andy spoke up. "Lieutenant Hernandez, I don't sense anything out of the ordinary. There's no one here but us." Hi tone condescendingly patient. What the hell was wrong with him? Second question, was there something wrong with him? It was awfully convenient that he was suddenly in this super competence role. And the snark in his voice seemed familiar...

Hm.

After a few more minutes Hernandez grunted in annoyance, saying, "Anything, Control?"

A few of the techs working on displays sent helpless glances and embarrassed head shakes back Jo's direction. She nodded and said "Nothing that we can see."

"Martin," Hernandez muttered, "Are you sure?"

"Sorry, boss." Replied the man who had first issued the warning.

Hernandez signaled the team to move out. The team resumed their standard 2 x 2 formation, and continued their progress toward the bunker. When he and Andy reached the door, the robot set to picking a lock while he assumed a cover position. The other team members fanned out, still sticking to the smaller two man units, each group posting themselves with a good field of fire and backstops.

To my surprise, Andy failed the first attempt. It's not something we normally do in our line of work, but I knew he had good software skills. After three minutes passed he said tersely, "I am experiencing difficulties."

"Useless" muttered Hernandez, "Move tin man, we'll blow the door."

Andy complied without complaint, well, complaint any of us registered. Hernandez moved up to the door and unslung his pack, pulling out rolls of explosives. "Control, no use picking the locks, we have to blow it." he said redundantly.

"Proceed." Jo said into her pickup. Away from it she leaned back, thinking. Out loud she said, "Military grade software?"

"It's still top secret, Jo" I whispered back. I thought for a bit more, then said, "How long until you have to report this up the chain of command."

She mumbled some curse word I couldn't make out. "I should have already." she said, low. I didn't really want to consider what Mansfield might order about Baxter and this project. We needed to solve this ourselves, and fast. Based on the fact that she'd set this operation up in the few hours I'd been unconscious, I think Jo agreed with me.

"Yeah, time to kick some ass" muttered Kroons in a heavy Midwest accent, one of the specialists Jo had described as a 'heavy'. That meant he was carrying a big gun, as well as other materials. If Hernandez failed he'd be up for a really serious door breaching effort. Fields, effectively in Kroons' 'foxhole' turned to him and you could see them do a fist bump on the small cam displays, obviously making eye contact with each other.

Which is why we all got a face-first shot when Kroons' head exploded.

All of us, everyone in Control, all the guys on the ground, everyone, froze. Kroons' display simply went to static, but there was a fully visible display on Fields' camera, though it was splattered with blood and gore. As if in slow motion, Kroons toppled over, first falling to his knees, then dumping in a boneless heap to one side.

All at once everybody exploded into action. Automatic weapons fire crackled all over the communication nets, people at stations shouted frantically as different displays lit up, viewpoints got spoiled as the men with the head cams universally dove for cover. Utter chaos. Above the din, Jo was trying to keep everything in order, shouting commands, trying to harness her people back to work. There was a manic energy to the whole affair, a sense of denial and desperation.

I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of what was going on. New blips were appearing on the screen as the drone flying over the scene of the battle tried to tag individual combatants, but they never resolved to any fixed positions. The team's helmet cams almost made it more difficult to understand the chaos. Somewhere in the middle of it I noticed Larry running out the door, hand over his mouth.

"Martin, Woz! Flank left!" screamed Hernandez. If anyone was listening, or if the strategy mattered one goddamn bit I have no clue.

"There!" shouted Wozniak, opening fire on some indistinct pile of brush and scrub.

"Oh Christ! Oh Jesus!" screamed Fields, ceasing his random shooting and staring down at his hands. It looked like he might be kneeling. His hands were clutching the red ruin of his midsection. He continued to babble.

He looked up just in time to see, I shit you not, a chameleon blurred shape moving at frightening speed flash by Wozniak, approaching from his backside and swinging wide, bright arterial blood gushing from the big man's left leg. It was just like those Predator movies...

Then I got it!

Jo had just ordered the reserve team into action, another six members of GD security, one of the response teams (our slang for SWAT), they were heading up the road toward Hernandez's squad.

"Jo! Pull them out, get them out now!" She snapped her head back my way, favoring me with an angry glare. Right then I wasn't caring so much about stepping on her toes! "Look! They can't see the enemy because they're hidden! It's Pilar's cloaking spray!"

Her eyes widened in shock. "No..." she thought about it for a second, analyzing the intelligence available to her, looking at what the cameras could see. She keyed her mic, saying, "Reserve team, McAndrews! Defensive formation! Give Jerry and his team cover and get the fuck out of there! Hernandez! Get your men and go!"

Once the reserve team gone into motion, six more windows had popped up on the MFD. The squad was hauling ass to get into position to relieve their comrades, but as Jo finished giving orders one of the screens fuzzed out and the vitals lines under it went dead.

"Negative, Control! We are engaged!" replied the leader of the second unit.

Hernandez tried to get his team together, but with Fields, and Wozniak incapacitated and Kroons dead that just left him, Andy, and Martin.

I caught a moment of brilliance as another one of the streaking blurs popped up close, but Andy reacted with quicksilver efficiency, intercepting the hidden soldier and bringing him down with a few shots.

"Hernandez!" he shouted into the mêlée, his voice fully audible over the network. "I will cover for you and Martin! Leave your breaching materials here and grab Fields!" I glanced quickly at Wozniak's vitals... if I read it right he was shutting down. Dammit! Another one!

In Andy's camera I could see Hernandez staring bug eyed. "Go!" the robot yelled, his voice amplified artificially.

"No, dammit!" I growled.

Jo recognized the source of my consternation immediately. She keyed her mic again "Andy, get your tin man ass out of there!"

"Negative, Chief Lupo. I will not return as long as there is a lawbreaker held up inside." The robot sounded calm and certain of himself.

"Don't you talk back to me! You're under my jurisdiction on this op, robot!" she yelled at him.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I think you're breaking up." he said. I could swear it was delivered in a snide tone of voice. He brought up his gun, snapping off a few more rounds. It was impossible to tell if he'd hit anything.

I knew he wouldn't leave, I realized. And I thought I knew why. Crap... crap, crap, crap, crap...

I put my hand on Jo's shoulder and said, "sorry." I knew she'd want to follow. Cripes it wasn't smart for me to go, not at all, beat up as I was by this point. But Jo? Hell, abdominal injuries on a woman are a special sort of hell. No way she was ready for this yet. I turned and locked eyes with Fargo, saying "Do not let her follow!"

He flinched and gulped, then hurriedly nodded. Despite all his growth, I could tell the man wanted to be as sick as Larry obviously had been, but something was keeping him here, watching this fiasco implode.

I left, making the best possible time I could.

"God damn it, Carter! Do not leave me behind!" she yelled at me. The door closed after and if she said anything else I didn't hear it.

* * *

In the general chaos, it seemed no one could be spared to chase down the Sheriff, so I took advantage of the distraction and swung by the armory. As the Sheriff I have a tremendous level of clearance, none of which Jo had seen fit to deny me once she fully had a handle on her job.

I took advantage of that. I grabbed one of those Dragonscale armored vests and switched out my tennis shoes for a pair of reinforced combat boots, a set of heavy duty gloves and one of the security special combat rifles. I glanced at a reflection of myself while I was gearing up. "Jesus, Jack... you look old." I muttered to no one in particular. It's not like anyone was listening. My face was peppered with minor cuts, both my eyes had huge circles underneath them, I couldn't remember my last real shower. I looked as weary, ragged, and utterly worn down as I felt. A tired old man trying to go to young mens' work.

On my way out the door I picked up an earpiece comm unit, but delayed turning it on and plugging in until I was on my way. As soon as I was on the network I heard Jo's voice, hot and angry in my ear. "Carter! What the fuck do you think you're doing!"

"Put us on a private line, Jo." I said. I tore out of G.D.'s underground parking garage at inadvisable speeds, especially for this old warhorse. Showalter's Scout was a tough old monster, but it would get me where I needed to go. I hit Lombard very quickly, and by the time the line clicked I was driving like a madman. Her voice came back on the network, sounding a little isolated. That meant the mic wasn't picking up the room at large, or she was out of the control room.

"Fine, Carter. Again, what the-" she began.

"Think about it for just a second, Jo." I said. My control over my anger slipped a bit as I continued, asking, "What has he risked everything, more than once now, to get? What has that insane piece of shit tried to go after, time and again this entire week?"

She was quiet for a moment, and whispered, "You."

"Yes!" I hissed, almost spitting the words. The last time he missed me, he got Allison. I was going to kill him. I was envisioning it, savoring it. "And if this fucker wants me, guess what?" I said, making the question into a declaration. I continued with hardly a pause. "He's getting me!"

I heard her sigh. "Andy still isn't listening to orders, he's now pulling rank, saying that he's the senior law enforcement official on scene."

"Bullshit" I muttered. "Still, I think I'm the only one who can ratchet him back, but I'm guessing."

"What? Why?" she half yelled, anger and frustration, and the edges of anguish, thick in her voice.

"Because of what Zane did." I said grimly. "It's too convenient. Andy changes the moment I bring Zane in on this? His personality suddenly becoming what I would need the most, and suddenly he can fight as well or better than damn near anyone I know? Come on."

"Oh no" she said, horrified. "He's... Jack, that could be manslaughter..."

"Not in my book, Jo. Not unless I can find hard proof." I replied. "Not unless I _have_ to make it stick. For right now we concentrate on this sick fuck in the bunker. He goes down, one way or another."

She was quiet for a while, then said. "Don't do anything you'll regret later, Jack."

That took a little bit of the wind out of my sails. She was right. I'll be damned to hell, but she truly was! If I went in there spoiling for a fight, planning on killing him, there was no way this would end clean. I needed to approach this with the law foremost, not my need for revenge! God, but it was hard to put that away! All I could think was 'You worthless shit! He hurt Alli!'

And if I killed him outright would I be sparing her? Or damning her?

"Thanks, Jo. I mean that." I said back.

"Yeah, well you shouldn't have fucking run off without me, you pansy!" she retorted, sarcastic and biting, but I could tell she was smiling a little.

"Just get your guys out of there, Jo." I said, with as much emphasis as I could. "No more dying on my account!"

We switched off and I found my ear piece again oriented on the rest of the squad. It made me sick listening to that. As tough as hell as the G.D. boys and girls were, they were no match for whatever the hell Baxter had left over in that bunker. Whatever modifications had been made to those poor sons of bitches that had gotten stuck in Project Lobot, it made them living nightmares in combat. They covered for each other so well that one could hit and fade, and another was perfectly set to take advantage of the distraction.

I white knuckled the steering wheel the whole way, racing at far too unsafe speeds. The longer I delayed the more those boys were going to get hurt, the more they'd be dying for no reason.

I drove on.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **Thank you all for the kind reviews. As this story is wrapping up I realize that I would not have had the impetus to continue without them._

_Regarding this chapter. I realize the body count is getting high, perhaps too high, but the situation I set up seemed to demand it. Baxter, if it isn't obvious by now, is going plain raving nutters. The ability to wear people is too much power for one man, especially one who wasn't terribly stable to begin with._

_Yes, part of the work Baxter was doing in the background was extrapolating new uses for Pilar's "Match Mist". Part of his insanity, thus far, is that it took a "mere slip of a girl" to use an old turn of phrase, __(and a high school student at that!) __to show him up. Without Pilar, Baxter's projects would have amounted to nothing, and that, I think, puts a special spin on his particular brand of crazy._

_Regarding Bob Graham, the MACV-SOG is an acronym for the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam - Studies and Observations Group. They were a highly classified, multi-service special operation unit which conducted covert unconventional warfare operations prior to and during the Vietnam War. Almost every movie you see about special forces unites from the late 60s on is inspired by some of the things these guys did. Wikipedia has a very well sourced article on the group, it's worth the read if you're at all interested in special operations units._

_GWOT is the military parlance for continued operations in the War on Terror.  
_


	19. Chapter 19

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 19

Between my stress and my anxiety, the drive felt like it took forever. I listened to every exchange on the radio as the security teams fought their way free. Fields never made it. The names of the dead were becoming a litany, and I couldn't escape the feeling that each death was a part of me, my responsibility.

I was perhaps half-way there when I received a phone call from Zoe. The ear piece I was wearing interfaced with my PDA, not something I was aware of when I tapped the "answer" button up by my ear. "Carter." I answered brusquely.

"Dad?" her voice was plaintive, anxious.

"Zoe?" I asked, completely off guard. My imagination suddenly treated me to a host of horrible reasons why she was calling. "What's wrong?" I asked, willing myself to be steady.

Her trepidation was evident. "Where are you? You're driving! Where are-"

"I'm doing my job, Zoe!" I cut her off. I was harsher than I needed to be, but I didn't need this distraction, not now!

"But-" she tried again.

"Zoe!" I said hotly, loosing my temper, "I don't need this right now!"

Because of the quality of the phones and the connection I could clearly hear the injured gasp, and her choking back tears.

"People are dying out there! I'm not stupid, Dad! I can see the chaos over here!" she yelled at me.

Jack, you short sighted idiot...

"Zoe, I have to." I said quietly. There was no way I couldn't. "He's after me, if I don't go more people get hurt, more people die!" I couldn't keep the anger and frustration from my voice.

"But, Dad, I can't do this if you don't come back! I can't!"

"Zoe, what if he goes after you next? What if he goes after Kevin? He's already tried to get Jo, and he's got Alli!" Tears were clouding my eyes, making it harder to see the road, she was crying on the other end. "Honey, I have to... there just isn't any other way." She was silent.

"I have to go, baby. I'll be back." I promised.

"I love you." she said quietly, and broke the connection, ending the call before I could respond.

I had to end this. I had to!

* * *

I made it to the staging area a short while later, almost abandoning the Scout in my urgency while it was still running. I locked up the brakes and slammed my foot down on the e-brake, but I think I left the damn thing running. Grabbing my gear I moved up toward the trail head.

The aftermath of the fighting lay all around. Though the woods were ominously silent, the area about me was choked with the bitter sounds of the still living desperately staving the pale horseman just a little bit longer. The fighting had died off almost entirely.

This is what my inattention has brought about. If I'd only been more perceptive less in the moment, how might today have gone? My attention had only been for the shooter. Had there been a giveaway on Baxter's eyes? Would I have seen it? Would that have saved Pilar in the end, or would I still have had to kill the poor girl? Could I have?

Amidst the chaos, I noted a man wearing the tag "McAndrews" and oriented on him, approaching quickly.

He nodded at my approach. "Sheriff." he greeted me, noncommittally. The left sleeve of his uniform was ripped open and a field dressing was on his upper arm. The wound underneath was still leaking.

"McAndrews, tell me the latest." I said, grimacing at the remains of the two security teams. I counted six guys here, in varying states of wholeness.

"Medical team rolled out shortly after you did." He began. "Shit, Carter. If we'd had a clue how rough it would be we'd have had them here from the get go, and probably the full staff."

"Sorry, we really didn't know." It was the truth, we knew he'd have something, but not this. In a reasonable world how could you expect this? "Anyone left out there? I don't see Hernandez."

McAndrews looked like he'd swallowed something vile, or wanted to be sick. "Jerry didn't make it, Sheriff. He got about halfway back, but..." he broke off.

"How many do you think you guys took down?" I asked.

"Fuck if I know, man," he shouted at me, at last having an authority figure to vent at I guess. "They're fucking invisible, even when they're dead!"

"Thanks, McAndrews. I'm heading in to see if I can get my deputy." I said, turning to go.

"What the hell? Carter! You can't go out there, you'll be slaughtered, man!" He yelled after me. I didn't reply. There was no way to make this make sense in an objective world.

As I made my approach I brought on line one other little do-gadget I'd nabbed from the armory. See, thinking on the home invasion and the reports and thinking of Baxter's soldier boys as Clancy's Rainbow Six team reminded me of how that book ended, and that Clancy had stolen his idea from a buddy at Global, or vice versa.

The VeriTrak HBDD, that's Heart Beat Detection Device, is a small object that you clip on to a set of protective glasses. It scans, somehow, for active heartbeats in something like a football field's length within your cone of vision, and then overlays a marker for every active pattern it detects, assuming it's within your settings. I hoped I had it set right.

If only I'd have thought of it before, Henry had said there was some sort of intel on Pilar's meta-material cloaking! All these guys, some with families, need not have died if I'd just _thought!_

The old growth of the northern Umpqua National Forest loomed in as I traversed the trail, massive growths of fir, Douglas-fir, and cedars crowding with each other and reaching for the skies. The scents of the forest dominated as well, a mix of the growing foliage and the damp sodden smell of compost in the undergrowth. It had rained recently, and despite the horrors of the day, the area felt somehow clean. Well, it did until I made it to the first firefight zone.

I slowed up, scanning for heartbeats with the sensor, as well as just listening. I was under no illusion that I'd be able to sense one of these commandos if they were trying to hide, at least, without the HBDD. But it's still possible for übermenschlich god-soldiers to make mistakes, and most conflicts are won and lost on the mistakes of your enemy.

I found Hernandez and Fields about half-way to the bunker. Jerry had been shot in the back of the head, the bullet slipping in underneath the helmet, though it looked like his helmet had contained the round. Utterly gruesome. Fields had bled out, and I'd seen Martin back at the staging area, at least he'd made it. Damn it but none of these guys deserved this shit!

As I was going over the area, preparing to move out, I felt the dull thump of explosives going off up ahead, reverberating through the earth. My ear piece buzzed for a second and I heard Andy say "Control, Deputy Andy. I have breached the bunker's entrance and am preparing to enter."

I keyed the mic on my side. "Hold up, Deputy, I'm approaching from your North. You need cover."

"Sheriff Carter, I do not require assistance for this. Besides, Doctor Malavi has you on bed rest, you should return to Global post haste." He replied, his tone vaguely insulted.

I snorted, "Yeah right, I'm you're superior officer and that's an order. Hold station."

"Affirmative, Sheriff." He actually sighed in annoyance! Hm. Maybe I didn't care for this new personality quite so much after all.

I double-timed it for the bunker.

About thirty yards later I heard gunfire erupt from up ahead, and it was answered in kind. "I'm engaged!" Andy exclaimed. "Returning fire. Sheriff be careful, I make at least two."

Shit! I continued my approach, scanning diligently. About fifty yards from the bunker, just around one of the corners, the HBDD highlighted a signal up ahead, stalking cautiously on the trail. I squinted, making out an ever so vague blur as it crossed in front of a tree I was focused on. Without waiting for further confirmation, I brought the assault rifle up to my shoulder and started firing controlled bursts.

If I haven't made it clear before, I'm no slouch with a gun. I nailed him. This, however, being the third or fourth time I'd tangled with modified people, I knew for sure that a single strike wasn't going to do the job, so I kept aiming where the HBDD said there was a bad guy and continued firing.

My rifle barked several times as I kept up a duck-walk toward the target. The HUD indicated syncing with the rifle saying I'd emptied half of the weapon's magazine at the target when the sensor reported that it could no longer find a heartbeat.

"Control, Carter!" I said into the mic. "Think I got one!" I did a thorough survey around me, looking for further heartbeats, and found one up toward the bunker, though there was a significant amount of terrain between him and me.

"Andy, lookout!" I hollered. The blip was almost on top of him.

I ran for it!

I rounded the corner, saw Andy standing in the broken out ruin of entry-way to the bunker. Jesus he looked like hell. His uniform was ripped to shreds, there was mechanical damage all over. I watched helplessly as the dot on my sensor converged with him. The blurred shape swooped in, and both moved at blinding speed. Andy lashed out with his rifle, using it like a club, while I couldn't tell exactly what the camouflaged soldier was doing.

There was a meaty thwack, coupled with a muted crunching noise as Andy's rifle connected, but at the same time there was a heavy metal 'clunk' as the shape blurred in front of Andy.

The broken man staggered away, and I could suddenly see him, or part of him, as the treated covering he wore ripped. He was turning away from Andy, hunkering down.

Andy looked down at his midsection, at a small metal block stuck right to the middle of his abdomen.

It all happened so fast I could barely see it...

There was a ground shaking "Whump!", a blinding flash of light, and a concussion wave that threw me over and against a tree as the little magnetic mine attached to Andy exploded!

I blacked out to the pain.

* * *

I have no idea how long I remained unconscious. I became aware of the world again when I felt a sharp grinding pain in my left hand, and I mean sharp! I jerked awake with an agonized scream, then lost my breath as a heavy weight impacted my solar plexus through the armored vest.

Dragonskin is fantastic stuff, but it isn't perfection. It will certainly stop a bullet, but it does that by spreading out kinetic energy. A heavy strike from a fist, elbow or knee you can still feel, especially if the hitter knows how to do it.

Through the burning pain I managed to hear a quiet wheezing laughter, but I didn't pay it a whole lot of mind. I fought to open my eyes as something twisted inside my left hand, dear God that hurt!

Through the tears of pain I realized that first, there was a large man kneeling on my chest, grinding his knee into the soft spot just beneath my ribcage, squeezing the bruises Graves had left me and nearly suffocating me. Second, he was leaning over me with this ridiculous combat knife in his hand, planted in the middle of mine! Finally, as I breathlessly tried to call for help, I realized I'd lost my ear piece.

Thinking through the haze of pain was nearly impossible, but it was hard to miss the heavy trod of boot steps. I looked around, trying to see how well and truly fucked I was. I saw another one of the commandos standing nearby, though he was still wearing the optical camouflage, making two of the assholes on me, when one was enough...

It is a staunch moment of irony that the third person in the happy little circle around me was Baxter himself, the source of the wheezing cough. He stood over me, like the villain of a bad melodrama. No tactical sense whatsoever...

I had him. Heh. Listen to me, like I had an advantage in this situation...

"So, the hero comes to save the day, all by his little lonesome, riding to the rescue! Ha!" I could swear he was ready to start capering! He leaned over and spat in my face. Yeesh.

It was so bad, I couldn't help it, a started to giggle a little. Blame it on the shock, on the week of stress from hell, on everything.

"Shut up!" he snarled, and kicked me in the shoulder. It made me laugh a little harder.

"I said shut up! I win, Carter! I do! Not you! Who's so tough now that you don't have me in a cell, huh!" The giggles threatened to blow out into a full on laughing fit.

"Shut him up!" Baxter snapped at the commando on my gut. The man, who's hood was up so I could see his face clearly, grinned as he twisted the knife.

The pain shut me up.

"So" I croaked, "What's up, Doc?

"Fuck you!" he screamed and aimed a kick for my head. He wasn't a very good shot, but Christ my shoulder was getting sore!

"You stupid shit!" he gloated, "You haven't got it yet, have you? I have everything! I have the perfect camouflage! I have the perfect communication system! I have the perfect fucking control system! I'm a god... No, better! I am God! Give me a few more days and I'll have them airborne, and then everyone will do what I want them to!" He broke of his tirade in a wheezing laugh.

He did not look good. The man had dark, dark circles under his eyes, his skin was sallow, almost hanging, and I swear I could see the veins. It half looked like he might have taken to experimenting on himself!

I knew I was in for some more pain, but after a set up like that, it's hard not to take advantage of it. It's like the pitcher giving you a fastball right down the middle.

"Yeah" I grunted, trying to laugh, "You got it all, doc. Too bad a little girl had to show you the. You'd be nothing without her you sick disgusting piece of used up shit!"

He glared at me with a hatred that was very nearly holy zeal. "Fine, you want me to speed this up, it'll be my pleasure! I'm going to enjoy this!"

He took a step back, leaning against the trunk of a tree. His features went slack, and the commando sitting on me twitched. Incidentally that nailed me again in the solar plexus and I lost my breath once more. The commando's features went slack as well, then he shook his head, and stretched his jaw, working all the muscles one at a time.

By far this was the fastest transition yet. It had taken him minutes to get into Hanson, and I have no idea how long to get the response team ready, but taking control of this guy had taken Baxter less than six seconds. The commando's facial features shifted in strange patterns as he leered down at me.

"Now," said the big man, his voice a rich baritone, "Isn't this familiar? Last time I was going to break a rib. This time-" he twisted the knife again and my world disappeared in a red haze of pain.

I hoped I'd be able to keep the hand...

I came back to heavy ham hand slapping me full force.

"Wakey wakey, bitch! No passing out when I'm working! Now, since you're so fond of using that tongue, maybe I should take it. What do you think of that?" The commando, Baxter really, leered at me with this utterly lost, manic light in his eyes.

Yeah, this was familiar. Awful familiar, and just like last time I noticed a small red pinpoint of light flick across my assailant's face. This time he saw it to, as it grazed his eye, slightly dazzling him. I know the commando would have rolled and dodged, and perhaps his reflexes were screaming at him to do just that, but Baxter was riding the man. Instead, he turned his head to look at the pretty light, and a split second later the commando's head disappeared as a heavy caliber gun roared it's final judgment!

Fuck yes! I'd called it. I knew he couldn't stay away!

The commando's body jerked to the side and tumbled off of me, my breath came rushing back in, spots behind my eyes as oxygen poured into my lungs now that my diaphragm could work right. Sweet bliss!

With a flash of movement the other commando immediately went after the new assailant. I tracked the movement for half a second, watching as the super commando charged Bob Graham.

The older man was in the process of chucking aside his assault rifle and pulling out a fighting knife. He was dressed in old jungle fighter fatigues, but no armor, the discarded pieces of his ghillie suit cascading off his shoulders as he stepped into the fight. I didn't waste time watching.

Bracing myself for the pain, I grabbed the handle of the knife and yanked it out of my hand, screaming my pain for all the world to hear. I took that pain though, held onto it, and rolled over, using it to get my feet under me for a lunge. As I guessed, Baxter was standing in front of the tree, in complete shock, eyes wide and staggering. Loosing a host like that has to be a serious shock to the senses!

I lunged with the knife, but my aim was off. Instead of burying it in his guts like I wanted, I wound up slicing across his side, maybe near his kidneys, leaving a deep wound that instantly started bleeding. He screamed in pain, high pitched and frightened. Baxter was not a man accustomed to suffering for anything.

He looked at me, and I must have been an apparition, because he let out a breathless little scream and ran into the woods, clutching his side.

I wound up trying to stand with my injured hand pushing me up, and realized just why that was such a bad idea, and collapsed again, curling up around the injury. I could still hear fighting, so I looked to see how Bob was faring.

Shit, the old man was good! He was holding off the commando in a fast paced knife fight, the two men moving so damned fast that I was having a hard time following it. Of course, like any real fight, like the fight between that commando and Zane the night before, it was over fast. This time, though, it wasn't quite so one sided.

The commando went after some weakness, I never figured out what he thought he saw, really, but he made a strike that Bob blocked with his forearm, taking a nasty slice there, but he returned the strike with a quick back handed swing, closing in to the bigger man's reach and striking four or five times to the man's abdomen like a butcher ice-picking frozen meat.

The big man grunted and staggered, but was still in the fight. He shivered briefly, probably getting a fresh juice of endorphins to shut off the pain. Another couple of flashing moves that I couldn't track, and the next thing I knew Bob had reversed the hold on his knife and slammed it up to his fist in the soft spot under the commando's chin, slicing straight into the brain.

He paid for it though, the commando's last strike as a heavy underhand stab to the kidneys that Bob failed to block entirely! They both went down, though Bob managed to end up kneeling and resting his arms on the knee of his planted boot.

"Bob!" I shouted, and scrambled toward him. He was goggling his eyes in pain. He pressed his hands to the wound, groaning, having dropped the knife to do so.

"Jesus, Bob! Are you okay?" I stumbled and nearly fell.

"Fuck that!" he growled at me. "That son of a bitch is getting away, Carter!"

"But-" I started. The glare he turned on me was like a physical thing. The rage and hurt in his eyes was palpable.

"I swear to God Almighty, Carter! If you let that little fucker get away I will come after you next!" He glanced at my hand, oozing and dripping blood, and blanched. "Fuck" he muttered. Then, grunting in agony, reached behind himself to a hip pack and pulled out a white bundle.

"Here!" he said, thrusting it at me. "New field dressings my lab has been working on, just press it to the injury."

I blinked at him, dazed, but complied with the order. The white bundle, operating much the same way as that tent Fargo had brought on that ill fated camping trip, expanded and shifted, wrapping itself around the injury. I gasped at the pain, then groaned in relief as the pain suddenly vanished.

"Good for external injuries, releases a local anesthetic too. Shit on kidney shots or I'd have left you here for medical." He smirked a little, obviously proud of the creation, then his eyes hardened. "You owe me, man. I know he was responsible but you still pulled the trigger on my little girl, so you fucking owe me! Go! Get that son of a bitch!"

I went, grabbing my pistol from where it lay on the ground. I didn't spare time to look for anything else, except Tom Baxter's trail.

I didn't see it when Bob collapsed to the ground.

* * *

"Freeze, Baxter!" I yelled, stepping up on a boulder overlooking the area I'd tracked him to. With the pain of the knife wound taken care of by Bob's super bandages, I'd found it easier to move and pay attention to my surroundings.

I'd figured he wouldn't have run if he had more toys to play with, so was more than likely save from any more super-commandos. The blood trail wasn't that hard to follow either.

I'd been half-running, half loping after the man for several minutes, finally ending the chase in a slight open area at the top of a gorge. Why the man had run for a waterfall from one of the streams discharging from the lake, I have no clue. Probably not thinking. However, he had run himself into a corner.

No way out.

He spun, turning toward me, still holding the injury. Tears were streaming down his face, and he looked worse than ever. I had my Sig out, leveled on him in a one handed hold. I'd tried for a steady two handed one, but super-bandage or no, that hand wouldn't be holding anything for a good long while.

He looked at me, choking on a something for a second. He was silent for a second, obviously debating what to do. I tried to hurry it along. "Hands on your head and lay flat on the ground, asshole. You're under arrest."

Somehow, that pleased him. A smile came across his face, a look of relief. He did as I instructed, at least part of the way, making as far as kneeling before opening his mouth.

"Fine, Carter. I give up. Arrest me." he said, wheezing out a laugh. I stepped down off the boulder and started walking toward him, wondering what was going on, precisely. I'd have figured him for a bit more pleading and begging.

"What gives, Doc? Days of trying to kill me and you're ready to go the hoosegow? You know for what you've done you're getting the fucking chair." I growled. Justice would take a while, but everything was too well documented. Hell, I didn't think there was a defense attorney in the world who could get him out of that at this point.

He snickered. "Oh of course, the chair!" he minced in a sing song voice, then held his hands out in front. "Cart me away officer, I've been a naughty boy!"

I pulled out the cuffs with my injured hand. Christ I wanted to kick the shit out of him, but he'd surrendered. He laughed again. "You don't get it? The great Jack Carter who always saves the day? Mansfield is going to fucking love me! And if he doesn't, someone above him will! I'll be able to turn this into whatever I want it to be, so yes! Arrest me!"

I froze, the wheels spinning madly in my head. He was right! The DoD would go ape shit over this stuff! Sure they might lock him away in a private prison, but he'd have unlimited funding, be the star of the show! And when that ceased to please him, what then? I'm certain Barlowe's consortium would love to probe him for intel! They'd been ready to rewrite time achieve their ends. I'm sure a little mind control wouldn't be out of the question.

I saw Pilar's face, in that brief shining moment when she'd won through from his control. I saw everything he'd done to her, how he'd abused her. I recalled her last written words in the journal, and I recalled her note to her family.

Allison's face played up in my mind's eye next. Pale, sallow, lying in a bed, a victim of this abuser's machinations and mad lust for power and revenge. The litany of all the names of all the dead paraded in front of me. We'd lost so many this week! So many! And the nameless men who'd been stooges of his original program and then perverted into this madness!

A whisper played around in the back of my head. A fevered imagining I'm sure. It was Pilar pleading for her life, a life she'd never, ever have. It was Luisa and Sharon, slain for this sick fuck's uncaring madness!

I changed my stance, bringing up the gun again, steadying my right hand with the injured left and drawing a bead on his skull. "No, you sick, demented little creep! It ends here!" I hissed.

He blinked in surprise, flinching away from me and loosing his balance. He fell on his ass, pleading, "W-w-wait! N-no! You c-c-c-can't!"

"I sure the hell can, Baxter! All I have to do is pull this trigger, and boom!" Some part of me screamed that this was wrong. I was a cop, dammit, not his judge! Not a jury of his peers! Most certainly not his executioner!

He scrambled back, eventually gaining his feet near the gorge, eyes wide with fear. "You can't!" he blubbered. "If you do, you'll never find a cure your Doctor Blake!"

If I let him go who says I would anyhow? Oh, Alli… I had to hope, but I couldn't let her be the sole weight in this balancing act. I'd die if I lost her, I knew that, but...

"No." I said, firmly. "No more!"

They train you how to kill, but call it saving lives. They teach you how to stand, how to pull the trigger, how to be ready, but they don't teach you about how to deal with what you've done.

No one can.

You have to learn that one yourself.

My gun spoke for me.

Judgment passed.

It was finished.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** Here ends the main story of "Way of the Gun". I know it may have gotten a tad cliche and action movie-ish at the end, but I hope it still plays out well. Please let me know in the reviews what you though, any criticism is welcome. This is, after all, education for me.  
_

_I will be posting an epilogue tomorrow or Friday, covering the aftermath and loose ends. I have to warn you all that the next one will have Pilar's funeral, and it's choking me up just thinking about how to write it, but even I need the closure at this point!_

_I hope you've enjoyed it thus far, and bear with me for a few more days. One more chapter and I can put this to bed._

_Once more, ultima ratio regum._


	20. Chapter 20

**WAY OF THE GUN**  
Chapter 20

* * *

_**For Whom the Bell Tolls**_  
_by John Donne_

_No man is an island,_  
_Entire of itself._  
_Each is a piece of the continent,_  
_A part of the main._

_If a clod be washed away by the sea,_  
_Europe is the less._  
_As well as if a promontory were._  
_As well as if a manner of thine own_  
_Or of thine friend's were._

_Each man's death diminishes me,_  
_For I am involved in mankind._  
_Therefore, send not to know_  
_For whom the bell tolls,_  
_It tolls for thee._

* * *

After the fiasco at the rogue project's bunker, Bob and I, and the rest of the surviving security team members, were recovered and rushed to GD Medical to have our injuries seen to. It was a chaotic mess, and since my injury was non-life threatening I pretty much got to sit and wait for attention. I spent my waiting time next to Alli's bed, since Doctor Malavi had finally rescinded the no contact order. Kevin and Zoe took shifts waiting with me, but I stayed as long as they'd let me, and fought to stay longer still.

Henry and Grace make one hell of a pair. Each is brilliant in their own right, but together they find solutions neither could alone, and that's saying something.

On Monday, the day after the... resolution... the pair had finished solving all of Pilar's codes from her book cipher, and managed to put together that information with everything they already knew.

I ran in to Henry on my way back to Allison's room. The doctors had finally released me after seeing to my hand. I would keep it, but even the dermal regeneration techniques Global had couldn't handle all the scar tissue. I'd have a reminder pretty much forever of how close that had been. Good, maybe it would remind me of the potential consequences, if things ever got this bad again.

"Jack!" he said, brightly, smiling with genuine excitement.

"Henry." I replied. Hope had flared in my heart just based on his attitude, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. He had a medical kit in one hand, and a slate tablet in the other. "Please tell me that's what I hope it is."

He smiled sympathetically, clapped me on the arm after juggling his burdens, and followed me into Allison's room. The treatment was amazingly simple. After a discussion with Doctor Malavi where I could follow maybe three words in ten, most of those being the pronouns, Henry injected a syringe filled with a clear solution into Allison's IV line and activated a program on his computer.

The other technicians made room for me and I took up a spot opposite Henry so I could hold the hand not hooked up to the tubes and wires. Her skin was cool to the touch. It tore at my heart to see her like this, and for the first time in a long time I actively prayed.

It wasn't out loud, but I know from the glance Henry gave me that it was obvious what I was thinking. I bartered with God, and pleaded, cajoled, demanded… you get the point.

Henry and Doctor Malavi continued to compare notes about the procedure, but I paid them very little heed, and simply continued my negotiations while I tried to nurture hope. At least they were making positive sounding noises.

A while later, I don't know if it was minutes or hours, Idha Malavi put her hand on my shoulder and quietly said "We're backing off the sedative now. She appears to be reacting well to the procedure."

I nodded, not trusting myself to say much of anything. Shortly after that, her hand warmed slightly, and flexed, and she gripped back. I leaned forward and brushed her long brown hair, somewhat lank and bedraggled, back from her brow, and her eyes fluttered open.

Quietly I whispered to her, my anxiety thick in my voice, "Alli, honey, can you hear me?"

She blinked a few times, as if confused, then looked into my eyes and smiled. "Hi, Jack" she said. Her voice was slightly slurred, and rough. She hadn't spoken for days, after all. Softly she continued, "I was dreaming about you."

The wall of stoicism holding back my tears broke, and I leaned in and kissed her. She kissed me back.

* * *

A while later the whole lot of us, Alli, me, Kevin, Zoe, and Jenna, were all gathered around Allison's bed in her room talking with Henry and Idha. Really it was a lot more like them talking to us.

"Well, the important thing to know is that we believe we've countered everything that could be used against you, Allison." he said.

Her brow furrowed as she considered the options. "So what you're saying is that you can't undo the work that's already been done? Up here?" she tapped her head with the forefinger of her free hand. Her other was occupied holding Jenna.

Kevin had come rushing in shortly after she'd awoken, and the two of us had to be chased out of the room by Idha shortly after so that Allison could be tended to medically. It's always uncomfortable when they start taking things out of you that they put in place when you were zoned out on drugs. Now, though, we were all pretty much one big jumble of relieved and happy people. It felt good.

Henry, continuing the conversation, shook his head first, then said, "No, the assemblers and the core are still in there. We're analyzing the data long term, but everything is so tightly interwoven with your neurobiology that undoing it is as risky as it gets. None of us are willing to take that risk, even if you were to demand it."

I didn't like the sound of that very much, but by now I've learned my lesson about just jumping in while the big brains are talking. Well, mostly, anyhow. It depended greatly on the level of common sense on display. From her expression Allison wasn't too happy about the situation either.

"So the processor and everything else is still there? What kind of risk factors am I looking at here, Henry, Idha?" she asked.

Doctor Malavi fielded that one. "Remarkably few. We're still studying what data we have, but the compounds that Grace and Henry formulated with the late Miss Graham's notes has succeeded in shutting down the assembler's carbon reconstruction functions. They can still build as their construction requires, but only by using supplied materials, the way we normally use such machines."

Henry chimed in. "Also, Allison, Douglas managed to work together a patch to the software in the processor. It's shut down the transponder element, so you aren't in danger of receiving any wireless signals or of being compromised by an outside source."

"No hackers, then?" I asked, trying to clarify the Henryspeak.

"No, no risk at all." He agreed.

"Cool, Mom" said Kevin. "How's it feel being the world's first cyborg?"

She made a face his way, causing him to laugh.

"It's remarkable work, despite it's origins." Henry continued. "When you have some time, after you've had a chance to recover some more, I would really like to work with you on some DNI research. We really do have an amazing opportunity to learn from this."

No one but me seemed confused. "DNI?" I asked.

"Direct Neural Interface, Dad." Zoe answered.

My turn to make a face her way. "Check out the big brain on Zoe!" I teased as I hugged her to me. She smiled and hugged back. I was glad to see that my snappish comments from the day before weren't being held against me.

Alison looked nonplussed by the whole situation. "I don't know Henry. It may take some time, if ever, before I'm ready to deal with this in that method. Honestly it just scares me silly!" I reached out and took her free hand, seeking to impart my reassurances with a gentle squeeze. She smiled back at me, though it was somewhat hollow.

Henry nodded emphatically. "Yes, I figured it might. I'm sorry for how this happened, Allison. I wish there was something we could have done sooner."

He departed shortly after that.

* * *

Funerals are hard, there's no two ways about that. Some are harder than others.

Pilar Alexandria Graham was laid to rest on a warm spring morning about two hours after sunrise on a Saturday. The service, one among many that week, was a private affair open only to family and friends. I attended with Zoe, Allison, and Kevin. Reverend Harper gave a moving service that I barely recall. Bob was stoic and ramrod straight, he'd survived his injuries, if barely. Annabelle was a wreck, barely holding it together.

When the service was over, Bob favored me with a precise military salute. I returned the honor, and we parted without a word. He took his wife under his arm and departed to mourn in private. It would be a long time, if ever, before he could say words to me, and I didn't blame him in the least. I couldn't have been half as stoic if it was my girl we were putting in the ground.

A few days before I'd given them back Pilar's bible, after Henry and Grace were absolutely sure they'd wrung everything they could from the notes contained within. The letter that had been tucked in the cover was still there, and before I'd given it back I chose to read it.

The note was written on used paper from a bulletin that once hung in the foyer of the church. The reverse side is an advertisement for some event that the First Church of Eureka was collaborating with other faith communities on. Her voice is plainly audible in it, at least to me. She'd been a guest in my home often enough that I could put just the right inflections in it. Throughout, several words are scribbled out, and the ink on the page, perhaps from a ball point pen, has blurred due to water damage. You can only look at the page and know that they are shed tears.

_Mom, Dad,_

_I'm sorry_

_I know I've been acting strange the last several weeks, and you're concerned and confused. I wish that there had been something more I could do, but I finally figured out that I could at least do this._

_Something terrible has happened to me, and I've been hurt badly._

_I can't tell you what, I truly can't. The monster that did this has made it so that I can't even tell those I love what's happened! I used to think the attention he showed me was respect and love, but in the last few weeks I've come to learn just how little he loves anything but himself and his legacy._

_I wonder if he's done to Luisa what he's done to me, but I think I'll never know._

_The worst part is that I made it all possible, and now he's taken what I made and used it against me._

_I wish that I could say this to you both. I just want to hug you Mom, and Daddy I wish you could just hug me and make it all better, but you can't._

_Only I can._

_I'm leaving this bible with Pastor Eve, and I hope she can get it to Sheriff Carter. Whatever happens in the next few days, please think well of me._

_I tried to do good._

_I love you both!_

There is no signature.

I don't know what Bob or Annabelle thought after that. With Bob's involvement in the earlier stages of the project before Nathan and Henry shelved it so many years ago, I suspect he knew full well exactly everything that happened.

As the party dismissed, and the workers began filling in the grave, I walked by and left a single hyacinth lying atop it. "I'm sorry" I murmured, and moved on.

There would be a more public memorial service for Pilar later, but I never attended. Zoe told me it was sweet and meaningful. I just felt hollow and empty when we talked about it.

* * *

As we left the funeral, Allison gravitated toward another section of the graveyard. I knew where she was going and followed. Zoe and Kevin left in her car, leaving the two of us to our own journey.

Allison was doing remarkably better. Her color had returned, there was a spring in her step again, and her smile was back. There seemed to be no lasting injury on the surface, but the surface is just that.

We'd shared the same bed every night since, but hadn't done anything more than sleep in it. Mostly she cried herself to sleep at night and let me comfort her. I was thankful for that. Rightly so, she saw the implanted machines in her head as an invasion, nearly the same thing as though she'd been raped.

A few times in the night I wished I could kill Baxter over again, only this time do it slower, but I did my best to hide such sentiments. I was afraid that Alli would take my anger as her fault, and that's the last thing she needed.

Our meanderings carried us to where I knew they would. A large marble plinth marking the empty grave of one of Eureka's most dedicated and brilliant scientists. Nathan Stark. Allison's former fiancé and ex-husband.

"I miss him" she said, quietly. Then glanced at me guiltily.

I gathered her in an embrace and said "It's okay. You two were close and I don't hold that against anyone. I miss him too." I said. Then I smirked and added in a teasing tone, "A little, anyway."

She smiled, but her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "You want to be alone for a while?" I asked. She nodded, not saying anything. I hugged her again and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Alli. Take all the time you need, I'll be here when you're done." She nodded her head and pulled away from the embrace.

I found myself wondering, as I gave Alli her space, how Nathan would have handled the events of these last few days. Would he have found the answers sooner, or would he have had his own distractions? And how would he have solved it? It wouldn't have been guns blazing, I knew that.

Dear Christ what a red-letter day. Me wondering if being more like Stark would've saved the day...

In the end she said a few words to the silent marker, bent gently and kissed his portrait, then came back over toward me. We hugged again and walked out of that place together.

* * *

Andy had to be almost completely rebuilt. The damage done as he'd tried to hold the entryway into the bunker was extensive to the point tat 80% of his physical mass had been obliterated or rendered unusable scrap. Zane, as it turned out, had kept a copy of Andy's core personality from before the event. After I had confronted him about my suspicions, he'd come clean readily. That was enough of a shock as it was, that when he offered the uncorrupted "original" Andy by way of compensation or penance, I let it go at that.

Besides, at this point the two of us were co-conspirators in a number of felonies. I was hardly fit to go about decrying his actions during the crisis when I'd done what I'd done.

He did do one last favor for me. I snuck him into the bunker facility one evening before the full cleanup had begun, and we dismantled everything in Baxter's databases on Project Lobot.

Everything.

In effect, we burned his research to the ground, ensuring that if anyone else wanted the brain control technology, they'd have to get at it another way, or at least face some severe trial and error.

When actual cleanup began, there were questions, but the slash and burn that Zane had done for me was masterfully crafted to look like intentional work done by Baxter himself, in case of his compromise and death.

I sure some spook in Langley would think it entirely too convenient, but that was their problem.

As soon as he was released from the scrappers at Global, Andy was back to his old self, though perhaps some of the Mayberry never came back. SARAH was thrilled, at least.

* * *

Jo recovered from her injuries well, at least the visible ones. With her, as well as with Allison, there'd been a significant amount of emotional trauma as well. I had to approach that whole issue in a different fashion than I did with Allison, though that hardly bears being said.

With Jo, I simply let her know that I would stand by her and be there if she ever needed it. Beers anytime, anywhere, and that no matter what happened she had my backing to the hilt. Really that was about all I could do. You can't force your friends and loved ones to talk, you just have to be ready to listen.

Zane and Jo continued to grow closer. After the events of that week they dispensed entirely with the sneaking about. I think the close call was enough to wake even those two. It was good to see. I no longer had doubts about Zane's commitment to her.

He continued for weeks to try and worm the story of Kiyoshi's sword from me, but so far I've demurred. It's from a less happy time in my life, and I generally prefer to leave it at that.

On the business end of things, though. Jo's security staff had been gutted. The losses incurred due to this fiasco were most certainly a black mark, but in the end it was Fargo that surprised me most.

General Mansfield saw the opportunity to replace a recalcitrant officer with someone more to his liking, or in other words a more malleable puppet, but Director Fargo blocked him, and fought him tooth an nail.

A few weeks after the event went down, there were hearings on the issue. I was asked to participate in at least two. While most of the time our government takes its own damn sweet time resolving issues, those in oversight positions for Eureka's management handle affairs fast. Doug, I was starting to think of him more as that than as Fargo, stood up to them, called the general's bluff, and secured not only Jo's job as Chief of Security for Global, but praise from a number of high ranking DARPA and DoD administrators.

After that display on behalf of one of his employees, they began to exhibit be a general attitude shift toward their boss. For a while at least.

* * *

After two solid weeks of living at Allison's place full time, the clean up job in my bunker was completed. I'd been in and out since, but it just wasn't the same.

It was in this transitional time that Zoe hit me up with some news. She had applied for, and received, a grant to do intern work off site, and with the Director's approval had selected Global Dynamics as her internship. I was miffed as hell at Fargo at first, but when Allison explained to me that she'd be taking over some of the teaching duties and that Zoe would be working in GD Medical, I relented.

It actually worked out rather well. Zoe, having not been present for the invasion of the house, or the desperate fight after, didn't suffer the same feelings of dread and anxiety that I did. She was more than happy to take up full time residence in the bunker, and SARAH adapted readily. With Allison's blessing (dare I say it delight) she and I moved in together.

After a five week return to Harvard to finalize some classes and finish off some coursework, Zoe made the transfer and once again became a full time resident of Eureka.

* * *

EPILOGUE

I still visit Pilar Graham's grave. It's been years since the events that caused her death, and I and others have moved on. Things have changed, as they always seem to, and so do we.

Her tombstone is a simple and elegant affair. There is a carved garland or various flowers spilling around the edge, framing the text. At the top is an inset portrait of her smiling like the always used to. It reads:

_PILAR ALEXANDRIA GRAHAM  
B. October the Ninth, 1992  
D. May the Thirteenth, 2010_

_Loving Daughter, Beloved Friend._  
_Brilliant beyond your years,_  
_You will be missed, Radiant Star,_  
_Our lives the dimmer for your absence._

Every time I make sure to bring a single hyacinth. I leave it atop the grave, and stay for a while to see if she has anything new to say.

You see, you never get to get over taking a life. Not ever.

Sometimes the best you can do is to try and make amends.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eureka or any of the characters or situations, I'm just playing around in their universe for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** It's done! Well... mostly done! I will probably go over it one more time over the next month or so and tighten up or expand some of the details and such based on commentary I've received. I want to thank you for hanging on for the entire ride, I know that's a whole lot of words to pore through._

_This story has been a heck of a ride for me as well. One of the things I always wanted to be was an author, and while I realize fanfic doesn't really cut it in that regards, this has been my first largely complete work of any length, and it feels good. I've learned a lot in the writing of this, and I look forward to writing much more._

_If you have any comments or suggestions, questions on what happened, and the general who, what, why, where, and when of all of this please let me know either from PM or in a review, and I'll take that into account as I consider edits of the piece._

_Again, thank you for reading._

_And now my favorite words._

_THE END!_


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